Monday, October 29, 2018


Another bleak winter
This time somebody crossed seven seas
To gift the smell of mild depression

Knees give up before such exquisite gifts.
They don't want to run anymore for that elusive sunshine

In this dark smog filled city
Bursting with too many people
I am turning into a professional mourner
Who finds it difficult to cry
As usual there could be another place
With a hill, lot of sunshine, a river..
Strange place names and people who are rude in a new way

Staying alive often means floating to another place
In a broken boat, with a prayer and hope inside the ragtag heart

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