November 15th

Running on an unguarded road
I saw an abandoned diary
with title—“ The Blue Bride.”

The leathery—recycled paper one
was not locked
wide open to axe by a stranger.

Salty conscience rubbed the heart
why read this?
Is the moral compass starved?
I patiently waited for
the smoky debate to end.

The 16th page had a logarithmic poem
with baser emotions and
exponential passions.

31st page was cheeky
flowing to the fluty winds.

58th one was loaded
the heavy pain of abuse.

with charcoal art
of white mountains
and gypsies.

On 62nd
A stranger saw
and again
I was gentleman.

Published by

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s