Poetry

When you were searching an answer in 
questions, 
the end started near the beginning. 
And you were still walking alone in the 
unbridled tempest. 


Lesser the light, stronger was the urge 
to move in darkness. 
Dirty landscape generated the brilliant stars, 


Legs atrophied, frozen looks, I was watching 
a strange phenomenon. 
The spirit was drinking its own fountain. 
Here is my toast to the march of time 
Kids are refusing to write on dotted 
lines 
already the death was tasting the dust.