Sunday, January 8, 2012

To A Sick Brother

Skin and bone,
my flesh my own.
To you these words,
in sorrow this ode,
This tryst, betwixt
my brother, a genetic code.

Pills,thrills and
desires that kill.
Time, cruel law,
looking not seeing,
the darkness we've
let into the synapses
of our being.

Tears will dry, go
up in smoke...like
cigarettes that
do words choke.
Death will pay the
debt that's owed.
This tragedy my brother,
of our genetic code.


Anirban Kapil Baishya (9/1/2012)

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