Mind is a unique bird
There is no way to get up and fly
Through whose eyes
Take care of yourself
of the thinking universe
In a small cage
With wet wings
A sitting bird
Whenever moisture accumulates
For birds that gain weight – no more
There is no way to get up and fly
And on the thin moisture that comes out
Throw mercilessly
Dries without streaks
By the wind of life
Longing
Proliferates from within
A leaky ascites
However
Most of the intermittent self-sufficiency
Appetizer at any time
Dithulla – wet chicken
Just a slap
In tracks that decay like senses
Melted, the bird
It is dried
Innate hunger
Even between the bird and the flight
The pickle descends
Water that grows as a servant
Scattered wings
A paddle
Wet and weightless again
A way to wander freely
In discovery
There is no time left
For that individual bird.
About the Creator
Ahamed Thousif
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Comments (2)
Lol, at the risk of sounding dumb, may I know what dithulla is? I loved your poem!
Beautiful!