I sit beside thy burning haystack
Inhaling the pellet smoke,
Dry, throat threshing
Slithering down my sternum
.
I sit beside thy burning
haystack,
with hopes nil.
your broken home of mud-bricks
begs to heal.
.
Could only gather rocks;
rituals of rubble,
drawing caricatures of moksha
upon your chaos;
in-exhaustive entropy
.
the smoke;
from thy burning haystack;
dissapearing,
evaporating,
beyond my reach,
so excruciating.
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Mirror Of Me | Poetry ✔
Poetry[a poetry collection] a dance to the fleeting emotions, notes to the music of life, a story of everything felt and told yet still, so many stories; so very untold. Of nights spent in solace of people so much more. Rankings: 🥇#poetry...
