To Despair with Love

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Those deadened words ricocheting on ear-lobes,
Amidst the doldrums of broken & lost hopes,
An existence between truth and hoax,
   Truth is an illusion and lies exists in isotopes.

Numb and stark like northern December,
A quintessential existence with nothing to remember.
 Standing at the altar of time with nothing to surrender,
War is with self and self is the contender.

We shall taste life from spice to bland,
Freezing our footprints on time’s sand.
Walking to the arena with heads held high,
With the fire of hope we take that final stand.
Dhrubjyoti

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