and in the sullen darkness of a warm night she looks upto her lil piece of the sky... or at least the one she calls her own... she stares into the colors of midnight long enough to see stars beyond the infinite...
there is an unrest... there is no song she's hanging onto... there is no tune she's humming... there's just a swirl in her head refusing to settle...
and there is but one image embedded deeply in her mind's eye that keeps on playing... her lil piece of the mountain with a huge black scar used like a scribble pad... it's almost replaced the flame she would see each time she would close her eyes...
"and the wheel's just keep on turning
while the drummer begins to drum.."
6 comments:
You have this art of weaving words so beautifully that they almost seem like poetry, but not quite.. :)
i love drum braks..prefer em to disscs..!!
Oooh, nicely written :)
U literally beautified the mentioned situation!! Good One!!
quite thoughtful :-)
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