The Geography of this barren sky has no boulders, no rivers
high and heaped clouds, buzzing right in my ear
are beckoners of echoes in a dream
Light-full mirror
Transmogrified by the prism of rain
Shallow face that shuns me again
as I hear my voice conveyed by solar winged carts
set afire once and again
in the woe of Apollo
Never again the ironic gust of wind will blow my faith
*
whilst
*
it
disintegrates in the stolid contemplation
of this depthless heaven, earthly boundary of a gazed piece of mind
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