The Honey

 I feel the roots   

Partly rotten, yet feeding the paradoxical being.

They feed the lush green plant 

That had borne the sanguine flower.

I dragged myself near it

Drank from its thick delicacy and dozed off.

In the intoxicated years,

Rights and wrongs conjured up into an awful perplexity.

The multiple versions of truth haunted me.

On eight legs, I walked the bridge of sanity.


I woke up years later, to find

It was the honey of illusions.

Now I’m awake, but vague

And in search of a new flower.


Ms. Renjitha. K. R 

Assistant Professor of English 

Al Shifa College of Arts and Science 

Kizhattoor, Perinthalmanna


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

എതിരില്ലാത്ത എതിര്

കുറഞ്ഞുവരുന്ന മാനുഷിക മൂല്യങ്ങളിലേക്ക്...

Ensuring Integrity: Best Practice to Prevent Exam Malpractices