amma

Standard

unattended hungers
ate her in ulcerative bursts
aggravated by her namesake residence
heated up tinsheet shed dumpyard enclosure
burning in past’s obnoxious reminiscences
sterile ashes were they in her lingered palette
as like the moment
as like the present
tries to built in some flesh and blood
as it senses the newness of subjects
but draws back into smells of the same
putrid cadavers put in the cascading pyres

everything opened with portals to her past

among her mom’s beautiful terrace gardens
all what she spots is the worldwide cinemascopic spiderweb
with its centric predacious exotic queen of the Hell
spinning. strengthening furthermore
the deathtraps for angelic feathered innocence

her gracefully ageing mom walks like a saviour yet again
it was only still the same hard-sculpt singular soul
turning her blurring visions fast-collapsing into shadowy disbeliefs
towards freedom flowers and faithful greens
towards pregnant sandbeds
in plumular hopes

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