artlessly

i got to touch paper ashes

which i burned to wipe a mystery, 

vapours arising full of blue fragrance

i could smell how long i held my tapestry. 

how brave i became this too fast 

that all i need fires to erase my past, 

give me matchstick and the gunpowder

my illicit illusions icked me louder. 

once there ruled a mighty myth

over the kingdom of tragic truth, 

i knew i was in mistaken waves

i massacred all, put all into graves. 

i hardly heard the crying voices

those poems seemed now noises, 

i slaughtered my words, my honesty

but death of artists is written artlessly. 

when i'll take my last breath

papers may avenge with my death, 

i'll ask my ink to act as my creath¹,

papers may avenge with my death. 

-chetna 🌻

1. Creath :- an East Indian Herb having medicinal properties, here used poetically for an drug.