Flesh

We are all flesh afterall…

Some new, some old.

Wearing layers of clothes

Hiding, showing at one’s own note.

Stretching, itching, bleeding,

Covering, feeling, stinking.

Some pinch, hurting.

Sun’s heat burning,

With every degree rise, sweating.

With every drop, shivering.

Can’t be at ease for all.

Every action is acted upon.

Every touch, felt close.

A mere “puppet”

Just no strings attached.

Skin covers it all, and that too is

Wrinkled, torn, and tattooed on.

Easily bruised, enduring all the things that are smudged.

Flesh crave flesh

Figuratively and literally.

With every urge, with every hold,

With every grip that tightens,

With every voice that comes thereafter,

The chills of feeling something inside,

The feels of warmth splurging out

and dripping…

Exactly how a deer feels when under tiger’s grip, isn’t it.

Or did your mind wander to some place else?

Like it’s said, figuratively and literally.

Flesh is something we came with,

Something we shall not take back.

It is the part we live on.

Everything or anything beyond

Are ashes or graves.

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