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





disintegrates in the stolid contemplation

of this depthless heaven, earthly boundary of a gazed piece of mind

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