I drift
away from you
poorer, ever poorer

‘one’ wilted lot
I sag
under a silage
and my cold feed

My punctuation marks
are just a pause,
to understand
my poverty, unexplored

Your golden rays, that
trek the mountains;
falls, behind
my closed gaze

The curse was not empty
along my blind ways, as
unwanted, I drift
farther your gaze

To Divine trumpet
I dart my salvation, otherwise
pelting of more questions
will errode my existence

born out of my inaction,
I bind my will; and
drift nameless
to the void, unconquerable

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *