Traitor Hollow Belief by Puloq Arafat - HTML preview

Whistle of Crowd

Whatever the sound-

To redden the fake heart!

Youth flights to the tender thoughts.

Candle is orthodox-

Then why against the pot-

Horror is a sign to candle-

Against the croak?

Trapping history-

Men or women who were grazing to get gaze-

And faking the handshake.

The handshake ought to come-

Because of pouring clouds?

Clouds of misty mystery?

Love sighs the size of cloud-

And the frozen minds care-

Forgot the dead bits and snatching the dare.

That was care-

Really the walkway-

Spiky sides of river mare.

Breeze came-

Dreads blame-

What a share-

Revering sicken layer!

Life is a blur shit-

Violent violet gazing the fear.

Nights are drape-

Days are fire.