Death of Metaphors

Not a pinch of remorse over the death of metaphors

They are buried and forgotten somewhere in the past

In an unknown land where they once flourished

Given a new meaning with the venerable ink

Those who spoke frankly of the feelings- happiness and sorrows

When souls ran deeper into the heart of life

Looking for meaning in triumph and misfortunes

Return every day to the frazzled notebook that looked calm

Amidst all the turmoil, it held its composure

Some of the pages were deeply traumatised by the pen

The next page could be of something ebullient

Reflecting through the thin barrier of life’s compositions

Unrehearsed metaphors grasp the meaning of life

Abandoning the metaphors becomes an Achilles heel

When nothing can be felt through the aggrandised notes

Stretched, some meanings, the narrower they become

Even feeble, and on the verge of wrecking

The candid stories are no more on the canvas

Painted with the unbridled insanity of giving some meaning

Where there is no metaphor, but laments, and laments


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