When the feet worry about serious broken patterns,
The slurry dent in the corner is laughing.
Reign of rattling rafts are over.
Worship and move on, for I am the reflection of blue bubbles,
Entombed in the crazy moment.
I am for all tenses and twice over,
No way the least, as sanity’s the prisoner by the blood of logic,
kept in the deepest cave,
For the fear of its uneven, unfaithful surface.
There ain’t no newbie nor nice old goofy,
Who in the least or the most could touch the aura.
For I am the only cuz I ain’t looking’, beyond the peach tree,
Right around the corner,
Swaying in deep self, riding in the ocean of falling cold,
And I pretend to be walking on solid ground,
Whilst the wet and dreary paper’s torn from the side.
©Aashiq S
India
@seamless_self
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