Poems

Stray hay

A stray hay tossed by the wind,
Freedom or confinement it knows not.
A longing, so deep inside,
The ground or the breeze cannot fathom.

The ground seems inevitable,
Whilst the wind seemingly alters reality.
A setting sun with a blue sky,
May just be the highlight of its existence.

On air it takes flight: See what’s beneath,
On ground, it gets trampled.
Security or enchantment seems out of reach,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer.

Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer.

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