Something hastily burns
In the birth of this mist,
Some fast-rising smoke;
Resemblance of an aura
Of a scenic skyscape, an expanse
Over an endless sea, meditative thought:
What we never do, and to what we ought.
Just as clouds that kiss the Moon-face,
Floating on a breeze, forever travellers,
Crossing same paths, familiar lines,
Finding something new in every embrace.
Better to lose at times, but to lose with grace!
We have lived in this concrete, plastic-fibre place
Enough, to know the organic value of things…
What good is after all, a reality, constructed
Within walls of stagnated, un-growing thought!
The real, as surreal as the ideal itself,
Not to be contained in human brain boxes;
She just is, let her be.