Hold Hands | Poem

Last night,

I remember the last image,

When I left the gallows behind,

The words, can you wait?

Haunts the dilemma of world,

There I had an urge to pick the knives again,

To scar another absence of presence of us,

When will the evening of unattainable love end?

I wonder, dearest,

What made us meet in the gallows,

The separation picked my soul,

The sickness spoke of silence,

Still, I survive on the scars,

To when I act as the Wordsmith.


The angels have come as demons,

Haven’t we left behind the destruction?



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