“predestined”
said a whisper crawling on night’s blemish still stuck on the curtain
despair plays in an infinite loop in man’s finite existence
the lamp balances itself in the light it emits in between flickers
the grass is growing where the hair needs to grow in covered silence
it is not a day where you can unveil something new
frogs, foxes, bees, snakes and a dead squirrel
the balcony is full
modest appearances marking the middle man’s lack of opportunity
mockery of life as it wastes around a breathe gone too far
cry my friend, for you are not alone
“predestined…?”
I still don’t believe so
neither should you
-Vinod-

Categories: Poetry