satishverma

SWINGING....

I did not will them dreams of crystals a stupid calendar of flight from insomnic past. Do not want to return to future, hub of my clouds. History had been writhing and screaming. Present cannot redeem my woes. I ask my bleak, frosted branches where the birds have gone? The songs, green hills, divine particles? When they will enter in frozen affairs? Anti-matter is now colliding with black energy I am faltering a rhythm. helplessly watch a xenomorphic face disappearing in the blue sky. Satish Verma