Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2020
As the avenues, turn to corridors
My air conditioned breath,
saves me from the heat.

As I stare, into the void,
With eyes wide shut,
There is always someone there,
I would like to meet.

Yet I sit alone, and listen restlessly
To the songs play, endlessly on repeat

I am not my thoughts , I am not my beliefs
That’s what I think and what I believe
Written by
FL
87
     Ishudhi Dahal and Fecundeity
Please log in to view and add comments on poems