a poem by Feroze Varun Gandhi

Into the mouth of the feast,
Of wrath, of questionable verities
Like truth and identity

I roam in the darkness
while negating it.

I sleep with a sound
so time will not crush me

I hide where its least cold
and wait to fail myself
just a little while longer

I deny the power of the other within me:
the sound of the phantom breath inside me