The Mouth

The venery of lull,
Ere, a falchion of ire,
On the second, breathing,
A bomb, poisoned, forsooth.

Words, passing whizz in air,
The hearts make feeble.
Indeed a stigmata, enraged,
Never can be returned again.

Kindred, glittering between words,
And pinching pain cruel,
Exuberant and glares through devil,
Silent emblem of rude demise.

Impish sentiments, irreversible,
The zillion of motes curse,
Atrocity thrived in might,
Of the sound, made by mouth.

-Osanda Janandith Thenuwara-


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