The moment ran out of prospect,

She fell below as dry as the shameless time, she reads on.
The eyes feed in panics, being empowered by fears.
The tiny creatures in within cried out for mercy.
The lips refused to depart from each other,
and the gentle fingers cried out for concern in between. 
Then, teeth showed concerns as they enter into the realm of greed,

And deceit unveiled as they struggled for survival as they terrorize the hand.
Lo, the fingernails were defeated leaving the void mind in the state of confusion.

What can the weak brain do?

Woeful, there lies no man whose cutlery weeps.
Woeful, there lies no man whose finger touches a plate,
for this is far beyond torments,
for this is way worse than the fall from a thousand miles above height,
stagnation in the realm of solitude beyond imagination.
An unpleasant odour of shame the nose cannot resolve;
neither can a foolish cook in his funny hat.
For at this moment, the knife has lost all hope of remaining a Marxist.
For at this moment, the plates remained naked.
For at this moment, the spoons are doomed for an adventure.

‘This is just the beginning of the heart’s tribulations’,
Is there something the water can do?
For the salt is tasteless, thymes are way useless.
The soups have nowhere else to receive salvation.
The position of the pepper has been replaced.
Even the popular onions and garlic went from grace to waste bins.
Gradually till the moment,

The seasonings refrained from sharing moonlight tales.    

O, what an empty dream for the living,
Grace had fallen, the grass also rejects this man.
The power house is weakened,
the hollow in within is disappearing into emptiness,
the naked stomach cannot bear this agony but cry,
Then, the toilet must tarry for her tribute,

O ye foolish heroes!
Pay attention for wisdom calls now.
A dead man cannot be saved,
even when the teeth are sharpened,
that doesn’t make its starvation free.
Generosity in this case, is the path to one’s demise.
Birds don’t warn another that a stone is coming.
For this is the season,
a season were hunger calls.

 

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