There a four lights eyeing me now
And I know they have a clue
What this incessant finger-heaving
Of thoughts is about,
They don’t flicker away in nonchalance
Or steal pretentious gazes,
In fact they stare, unfazed
As if in eager calculation, gawking shamelessly
Four lights stare at my fingerless words
As they claw out meaning, tirelessly
On church doors, they can’t clasp
An embrace of a prayer
Trying to turn upwards for alms
or tirelessly cupping your face in reverence
They bang, and tremble
Like cowering pieces of flesh
Bask in harsh illumination
For the world to cast pity on.
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