The Carnal Basal

Poetry has its flaws, a point far beyond perfection
A happy man can't spell the simile
Neither there's been a man without distress...doesn't in irony we abide 
The carnal basal and the desires for lust
The depravity of arousals and unmatched evaporating temptations
Ever wondered why flashbacks are sweet
Ever wondered why it always spreads pain...
As everything is illuminated and my ink has lost it's glare
The carnal basal from top to bottom
The weakened beggar and I the restless chooser
Gripped by insomnia why I dream so often
From Copenhagen to Dublin, sun setting from Vienna
Fresh morning rays showering from Zurich
I was born in Venice and died in Amsterdam
Starved in London mundane are wonders
Who am I except a thought an Idea in dismay
Banal and drunk memories, I fear to imagine again
Tomorrow will be a new day and I'll run opposite
A polaroid burning into ashes
Selling newspapers, sweeping pollens, the servant you trust
And a voice I have never even heard myself
I'll fly in deep slumber of melancholy
The carnal basal, leaving a dead carcass
A carcass of stardust at best

By- Kshitij Sinha
12/9/2018

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