Poetry

The quality drops. You
look at the sky.
A juvenile moon was
following us.
 
The intention was not very
clear. To shake off the tail,
we went behind the bushes―
to understand ourselves.
 
The ennui was taking a
big toll. The roots were becoming
robotic. Cannot negotiate an issue.
 
Seedless, you cannot
impregnate. No thoughts―
no poems.
 
But then the life has so
many giggles.
 
You can start reading a murder.