The thoughts keep flowing on
as the waters in the river
at times stagnating
at tines flooding
at times drying up
at times flowing smoothly.
While the river ends up in the ocean
the thoughts find no end
but gets caught in corners
allowing a confinement
and a constraint.
The mind then goes
off the beat and misses the rhythm
inhaling polluted air
and exhaling a contamination
causing a suffocation
leading to a breathlessness
and a cremation by
burying the thoughts
and setting them to fire.
Tag: analogue
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It looks nascent.
It tends to be stringent.
It has a status regent.
It grows with pleasure.
It wanes in measure.
It succumbs to pressure.
In a lethargic leisure.
Indeed it is a covetous treasure.
Every fortnight it grows in size.
Every other fortnight it demurely lies.
Its expansion has a phenomenal rise.
Its contraction has defeated ties.
Irresistbly it has a fascinating prize.
It shines in the night.
Emitting a cool light.
Expressing no flight.
Empowering a rational plight.
Indeed it delivers a lovely sight.
Does it not exhibit an analogue?
Does it not record a dialogue?
Does it not appear as a prologue?
Does it not sound like an epilogue?
Curiously it is not in thetreasure, leisure, ressure, pleasure, sight, catalogue.



