Drifting like my mind splattering
All across the subject of thought like stones
I put them under the current turbulent
And then in the tranquil singing rivulet
The waves danced on them and lathered
Them with frothy force,
The freshet with the dreamy gliding flow
Touched, rippled, repulsed.Neither the Lucid nor the placid helped.
Further away from desirable.
Each ebbing tide surged my emotions
The waxing and waning reflected the moon
Fraught, I put them in a turbid stagnant
The lotus does lie in a bog at times
Alas, the green marsh is really a quagmire
The stench clung and only deepened.
Can you lend me a drop of dew?
Can you make it Rain?
Blood, sweat, grime;
My hands are dirty
And they seem non-washable.
No comments:
Post a Comment