art · Beauty · Philosophy · poetry in motion

Hazardous days

In these hazardous days,

even air is empty of life,

like the soul of love,

which drinks water from the fountains,

in the wild heavens running with milky dew,

and nudges me in the elbow to belie,

what I have got,

an existence,

In essence,the winds blow,

and the air shuns its emptiness,

what is life?

A crossbed of desires,

to shake the mountains,

and in return embed,

it’s signature-

A dark temptation

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