A round trail

Ceaselessly beating on the foothills

Of that majestic still mountain

Only surviving in one’s own echo

No one to grab, no sound to trace

Past burnt out in fumes and

The fire of future depleted

Constantly running towards escape

On the beads of round trail

Ideally marching in mutiny

Referendum of the futile sail

Moonstruck I walk among shadows

Of the dreams crushed by curtail………..

 

©ANKITA CHATURVEDI

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