Sunday, March 18, 2018

Writing For The Sake of Sadness



There are children starving
somewhere south of Nepal,
ankle-deep of dirt and
bellies full of unearthed worms.
And I'm sitting on a varanda,
edges of the splintered floor-planks
extra-brown of designer paint.
And I'm battling my brain
for writer's-sake, two javas
past the point of no return.
I sift my thoughts like sugar,
granulated, syllable-by-syllable,
though never quite as sweet.

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