On The Teeth Of Wheeling Death.

           On  The  Teeth  Of Wheeling  Death.

 On the twangs of  wheeling painful Death

Something sparks, silent and  steadfast,

What you call this painful paradox.

A rehearsal  of  mix of  pages, you revisit now.

Verdant broccoli, just  unpacked, now

In its  sauce pan,boiling  with  spices,

Now looks  as if keen on going back

To its stem  and  clan. A vain  yearning.

It is  the  gardener’s fault,

Owner’s treat, its angst.

Woe  to  the  Creator 

It  bemoans with certitude.

Take   break, go back  to this life

Of  fallen  foliage  and shrinkage.

Your  delve  into  philosophy

Continues  with  assemblage  of  facts.

There is reverberating Life, craves

 Not  For  reprisal, but  for  redress.

Many a   sages  and  many  a  saga

Have unleashed , encrypted  this

As Death Wish. Again   this is 

a  penitential   cry  for  a  feel

of  deeds, represented by your

dictates   of emotion  and empathy.