Monday, July 26, 2021


Our satellite was ochre
As it seared the eastern sky
Just like a red hot poker
Going straight into your eye

Attaining its gradation
As a harbinger of hell
From the smoky conflagration
The west had failed to quell

Determined not to languish
In the labyrinth of my mind
I disavowed all anguish
When I left my yoke behind

And sought a new direction
In the confines of a car
While gazing with conviction
At a brilliant shooting star.

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