Die in my nightmares; I will live in your’s.

– Aniket More



The Final Knell

I’m running away

Every day

From the knell in my head

I’m pressing myself

Against figures of the dark kind

My heart

The enchanted garden

Now a forest of thorns

Allured by the eroticness of death

Apathetic of life

I run no more

I disintegrate

To a transparent sky full of nooses

A final solemn knell, I hear

I curl up and whisper “Every rope is a noose, and every noose is a rope.”

The whispering ceases

I meet my quietus.

© Aniket More