Poetry 7 | Hidden Daggers | Debashis Behera

Silver daggers with stains of blood,

Were found under my desk.

You ask why?

Well, the last but most beautiful memory,

Of the ones i trusted with my ferry.

Some in the chest and some in back.

But each dagger was stabbed twice,

One for me and one for my boat,

With each trench somewhere i got lost.

It took some time, but each once,

Its true that i filled those craters,

But what about the scars you ask,

Well, Those silver scars did never scatter.

Yes, Still I keep those daggers,

And what more can a foolish heart do,

Rather than just being true.