A research on a breathing stone.


Written while sharp rays flicker in tangerine, through leaves of autumn spirits.


26/09/21

17:39

Sunday, a day that feels like a road trip

in the country.

@infront of a 5 feet one glazed window,

reflecting moving shadows of a tree


Dear world,



Paralysis of heart, here comes for lunch,

what have we to feast upon this daylight?


Storms of flaws, if you may, here strike your punch.

For a polar flame will shake or ignite.


Follow another’s dance or the latter,

what do you breathe? To bear, or to propel?


A plate of bittersweet, is yours neither?

Known days are rich in fuel or quarrel.


Creamed farewell to the sun, or feed a wheel?

Blues arching to catch apples or repel.


Endless squared days, or swim through cold water,

only to hesitate is to protest your exhale.


What can mere rain take from a stone walker,

when time holds the rail road to reconstruct?



Sincerely,


A self proclaimed stone








 

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