Poezja

We were absent from ourselves,
the stillness roared
like a mad sea.
Keeping a night vigil didn’t help,
we felt protected in blazing sun,
quality of answers were deteriorating,
the truth existed,
beyond our beliefs.

In non-aligned manners
we disengaged from pain.
It had become a habit,
to walk in swamps
instead of asphalt road,
which was leading to peace.
We watched the rise,
and fall of attitudes together.
Language failed to find an asylum.

Ataxia of windows,
cannot barricade the light,
the fruits fall like dreams,
on hard ground, to crack open,
and disperse the seeds.
When you start the
voyage to distant realities,
your days are over.