these days I feel a
little too lost
swaying in an endless
circle
things happen, days
turn to nights
and nights turn
to longings
and I feel a little—
too lost.
I sit by the
window,
sunlit dust—
dancing,
like specs of
freedoms
if only I
reached out.
I wish the needles would
stop moving,
the clock would
stop beating
and time
would stop,
just stop.
«__________»
Something I just wrote on a whim, without giving it a lot of thought.
YOU ARE READING
h a i m i s h
कविता. . . haimish; moon talks, and alleyed pyols. . . . homes a collection of snippets from the times I feel most at home. prose/poetry
