Shambolic houses upside down,
lost in it are souls never found.
Rivers are flowing left and right,
rather than falling down; they are climbing height.
Static Earth with Sun doing rounds;
floating bodies, minds buried underground.
Soft blossoming stones and hardened flowers,
in this colorless world and faded hours.
A morbid truth, some winsome lies;
comforting us in fool's paradise.
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The Voice Inside
PoetryWelcome to the world of surrealism. We are always accompanied by a voice that resides within. A voice questioning every move, every desire and everything that comes in its way. A voice sane and serene: illuminating us of the cosmic realities hidden...
