by Aashish Thakur
Love! No more old clichéd metaphor for you
This time demands something different
Something like veiled illumination
Something like stinking history books
Something that goes well with the packaged truth
And time says: we are not we
We are heads with price tags
Time says: we are not we
We are bloodstains
On the chest of the Earth
We are virgins
Drowning in our own blood
So I called your fingers: Dagger
I named your arms: Guns of tanks
And curve of your breast: The trajectory of an intercontinental missile
My love! In this time
Love becomes war
And war becomes way of living
I want you to
Keep staring at me
Because when anonymity becomes existence
Hope blooms in the death
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