Displaced, distressed and daunted,
Us humans,
frame the dead
and the dead memories.
Living a damaged past
and a future of no hope.
And when everything slips away
the whirlwind slips in through the windows
the frames break and shatter,
you see yourself in all those pieces
and realize,
we are all made of those
memories we make.
- Lohithaksha
YOU ARE READING
Senseless scribbles
PoetryA collection of my micro tales, short conversations, poems, random thoughts and yes my senseless scribbles.
