Wishes fall lame…
Lamington pastries pester the mind,
Mindless grows the present
The present is devoid of any surprise, It’s plain, with no mysteries
Mysteries are all ‘my histories’ stacked together,
Together we march towards death,
Death is a sweet zilch, which beats the grind!
Shivapriya Surve
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-train-of-thoughts/
