Existential Plight

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.