Spiteful




Spiteful

   

At the rupture of the day

resting elbows on the window sill

watching the beauty

returning to the earth.

Mesmerizing was it...

Mountains painted with silver and gold

green valleys, terraced land,

birds, and insects

preparing for the day.

Cool breeze caressing my face

blowing my drowsiness

but the spiteful fog

rushed towards me...

Swallowed every being

pushing faraway everything.

Most violently I tried to get through...

Paradoxically, I dissolved in it.

 





Poetry by Bhakta Raj Giri
Read 310 times
Written on 2006-12-12 at 14:19

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