The breeze that brushes
Dry pensive and cold,
Windows shut
Mind and heart lost
In the maze of icicles.
Wet and cold sighs
Tranquil trudging
Perception clouded
In grey thickness.
My knocking and thumping
Lack the strength, zeal.
I guess am engulfed
in the cesspool of
Long interim bubble.
Waiting for that spark to
Burst open!
Kiren Babal
27.1.2016
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