I'm reeking of rotten fuchsias and sweaty armpits from the time sun has been breathing within the chest of somnolent shores almost everyday, I'm shredding ungerminated seeds one after another apart from my will when clouds wail along with me at bay.
My past is a woman festooned with beautiful scars, following me when towns exhale murk in air and I overpower her with a sluggish smile as my weapon. She took birth in the aftermath of war as a treaty of defeat, & swords do recite tales of her which the world has abandon- ed to believe.
This city is dawning darkness upon me under the courtesy of belligerent sun and I'm crushing betwixt the demure of my own delirious shorelines, but I'm trying to run towards Archimedes asking how to put off the weight of this buoyant forces, hoping he will lend me a hand out of welkin. ~Purva