God is but a word to me
Sense tries catching His sense
In which of the words dwells He?
Sense trips me into ambush’ fence
So primitive, futile, fragile
Frowns my thought at me
Haven’t you got it all?!
Jeers on my face like hell
“For something to be possessed
It needs to be assessed
To be someone’s dear
Should dare to get near” Said I
Says the world He’s in all
Then why the hell should I call?!
For He’s not my girl at least
Why should I fast or for Him I feast?!
There you are!
Giggled my soul
With a frenzy smile
With a gaze so cold
So struck in lust for flesh
How the Hell, you’ll sense
To possess Him, assess you
Nip your questions in bud
For it might bloom into thorns
And drain your soul into
Eternal qualm
Mashook Rahman
Photo Courtesy: Internet
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