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Syndic Literary Journal


The Apocalypse (2020)

By Asha Viswas

The city sleeps cradled
In anguished, arbitrary dreams.
In the mornings the silence
gets bigger by the barking of dogs
And the roads remain bare
as despair. Your identification
with a corpse both soothes and horrifies you.
The young and the old are easy victims
Of Death which is no longer
Something that comes only to others.
Everywhere we are lined up, like grains
Of dust to reach the neck of the hour glass.
Apocalypse is no longer a word just heard.


Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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