We do not tell the blind of rainfall
They have zillion eyes on their skin
I am you, we have the human pulse
So I won’t tell you my senses are six
I will dig from this earth six six-feet
Two for my brain and eyes that see
Two for my skin and nose that smell
Then two for my tongue and my ears
I will bury my senses in this six six-feet
By the sixty minute of the sixth hour
And sixth month of this sixteenth year
With six of you and six of me
Because I’m tired of life and her earth
And I’m scared of hell and her death
But this breath chokes life out of me
So I shall live on deader than the dead
I will see no more of human brutality
Blinded to manslaughters and suicides
I will be deaf to news of new infirmities
I shall hear no more of solicitous cries
I shall taste the saltless soup no more
This acidic rain shall not wash my face
I will be without all hazardous thoughts
My brain freed from mentalities of wail
I need six wise men in their late sixties
To dig with me the six graves of six-feet
We shall do this in the earth of our mind
For we can’t bury senses on this dry land
#magicalpoetry
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept