by deepali

The unhindered always feel
as if it’s a sea out there and they –
 swimming.
 
You, on the other hand need
To bleed to distinguish flow
from the nasty habit to know.
 
What is it about journeys
that  always summon feet?
They simply lace up balding streets.
 
Bring me your cobbled stone
That I may paint it red again
Just to mark a mile and move on.
 
De-seeding my river-stone silences
In the hope they’d recall their song again
And dissipate like always.

Year: 
2014
Forums: 

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