Scorching is the heat
ducked and stocked in a dense close room
with white walls forming the corners
while the mind soaring high
a desk to support on
a rocking chair giving a vibe
Timber is the desk
mechanical becomes the brain
typing constantly on a keyboard with some strain
a young mind
with growing age
with dreams vast as open sky
stocked up in a pile
talking about round abode one lives by
With the blazing sun outside
with scorching heat
and drenched sweats of hard work on sleeves
soul doesn’t tire by
it has a dream to fulfil upon
it is trying to bloom under the sky
negativity strokes the ceiling
the humble ground says, “stay low”
work in progress
for a dynamite to explode;
working in silence
was the trait;
working to make a shot
maybe a day shall arise
when the blooming shall fill the score
those numbers shall result on sheet
ambitions reaching its shore
A beautiful sweet smell shall fill the room
the scent of success filling the abode…..