A Poem To Feel Good

Left to bare wood and all alone, Trees stand all stark and leafless nude. Hilly terrains left to last bone, Rock stones seem coconut-shell crude. Few puddles— all that rivers own, Look like poor man's spawn starved for food. Eyes closed, staring at dust cyclone, Dimensions are wrapped with dark hood. Sickle in hand, treacherous sun To scorch it all has for long stood. Amidst plenty, still famine-prone, Life's left when lone in solitude, O looking for small satisfaction, A poet pens O to feel good. ___________________________________ Reflections | 13.05.2019 |