Thursday, May 18, 2017


Like every season this too shall pass
This delirium of impossibilities
Which hang over head and heart
Taking lightness away from footsteps

What is the point of haggling
With that haggard old woman called fate?
After every encounter with her
I walk back in shame
About the pebbles in my hand which I try to pass off as coins

How many mountains, roads, streets shall one walk through
To wash away the dust of still born hopes.
Not the enlightened one
Nor the monk with the bowl
May be should turn on the self help mode
And take the lemon for walks of penance to make lemonade

No comments:

Post a Comment