Wednesday, December 27, 2017

LOST LAND



I sway 
by the soft western wind
the evening
rooted on a turf of a broken land
The earth of which
is slowly getting dark
as silence of the evening sets in
settling 
whisper in space
Birds flapping towards their nest
Burdensome dusk
charging lonesome heart -
A dead bird's dream.
The thoughts shear
an account of flesh
As the night-sheep
bucket its head
treading along 
the heights of lost land

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