Waiting for an Invitation


Half-heart of red cherries is leisure full of berries,
mind full of colour is mere out of pleasures.
Sitting under tree on a hopeless glee,
suckling thumb like a baby in curiosity.
Mumbling inside the mind box again,
charred jar getting oxidized in a moment of time.

Strolling not more a couple feet and grinning,
gestures complexed like fabric woven with embroidery.
Smoke of dust is must in all apparition here.
Chuckling out with no reason.
Crippled from a pebble,
jacked from the place,
waiting for the good days,
and waiting the sun rays.
Still in the numb case,
waiting for the moon light,
still in a slow pace,
and still, no one cares.

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