I loved merry-go-rounds
Since my very childhood
Till, my love lives, I found
Mimic them as I matured

By looking at the work-overload
I’m guessing if the Almighty God
Were given a chance to choose
Wouldn’t wanna be in his own shoes

I thought, taking a pause
When my wife told me
How farsighted he was
Mr. Fyodor Dostoevsky

She was, above all, talking about
How rightly he caught the current
It’s a masterpiece, there’s no doubt
His book, Crime And Punishment

I believe most his depictions
Are of those of a philospher
But calling it good prescience
Is a wrong business altogether

What he catches is not the future
But the essence of human, which
Has sadly an unchangable nature
It is still evil and of *******

As some poor butterflies
Based on the time I post
My digital poems’ lives
Last a few days at most

Give people a chance to sound
You’ll see if they’re hip or hidebound

Losing you didn’t mean anything
Other than finding myself
Which was everything