Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Beneath the real, the horses run
Into the journey of the unsought
Amidst the woods, in the deep red sun
Racing through web of memories caught

Ponds of muddle makes one wonder
Is it half empty or half full ?
Imminent midway makes one ponder
Half way through or half more to pull  ?

With plethora of petals that unfold
Admire the rose or blanch the thorn?
Mirage in a mile the eyes behold
Is it indubitable or a con ?

Run persists, speed unprecedented
Into the unforeseen so slender
Back into real, thoughts fermented
A tantalizing mind so tender