The bank.

As I sit on the horizon of my land and look at the water beyond,
I see my lost stars whining helplessly, all alone;
They don’t seem happy there.
I turn my back to see my shadow dressing the lose sand like a newly wedded bride,
the moon caressing it as if I was its own child.
My shadow too flickers as if it had no body, seeming to rise above what was given to it.

The life behind and the life ahead,
Our destinies , living or dead
No one  knows what shades we have to see
No one knows when our ghosts will be for set free for eternity.

I carefully put my tender feet  into the brims of the cold shining water;
the white venomous froth stifles my bones and I feel the free wind suffocating me to death.

Even I am not happy there; my calm horizon too deceived me.

The gloom spreads over my pale dead bundle of marrow-less bones;
The world fails to distinguish between me and other spindly crones.
My soul quietly fathoms the intensity of the joke that He played;
He gave us all the same end; and in the same cesspool of mud we all lay swathed.


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