White cotton grass

That was the white cotton grass which grew out of nothingness

and now salvage nature of its doings in the wilderness

I must profess the beer is not the solution to

balmy but cold nights of the tundra where I imagine to be

a sip of Heineken is a long lost battle of taste

where the sweet-maker says the taste is for the challenge

And I walk back besides a mongrel in the tropics

and life hastens like a recoil of a bullet shot in

the anticipation of the dew that lingers on like a white curtain

which when unveiled shows me a cabin of a room left by itself

and to me to smile on the journeys the men undertake

only to discover the white cotton grass of nothingness

Extending into each direction as if lost on its way

it tells the journeying men no way is untraversed.


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