The mist...a layer as if...going hills...

The mist
A layer as if
How beautifully evaporates
The scene of the cityscape...
And those streets, vapourise,
Those shops shuttered lie
As if sleepy hamlet descends
Right on the city lanes...
With mist foggy kind
Draping the pentup minds...

And memory disc randomised
Rotates to another rise
As if hills greenish with elms come
As if an Abbie there finds an Eben calm...

and how finds her words
Move sluggish as if towards
The metaphoric expressive earth
As if there is never a dearth
Of love erupting joyous under those trees...
Elms getting wet, drenched, in misty foggy...

And sees those lamp posts
As if standing with yellowish scope
Of brief luminous
As time small underneath them
like  brook pass...


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