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the Journey of my mind

I cannot write poetry . However,what I write, I cannot call it prose. Whenever I've shown it to someone they said it was poetry. You read and decide then let me know



Friday, 19 December 2025

As I fly: 1 and 2

As I fly :1

Watching from the sky 
the rugged green earth below,

I am mesmerized.

Dots of water,
green fields,
low hills,
snaking brown roads
sunbathing lazily.

Gleaming roofs,
stubbled fields,
winding rivers lying still,
slothfully.

Straight lines and curved ones
forming squares and hexagons,
chequering the earth.

From a pigeonhole
in the sky, I spy
abstract designs—
patches of dull
blue, green, and browns
mixing and remixing
Into earth.

Far away, the clouds
fade like watercolour strokes,
smudging the blue sky.


As I fly  2

Unknown towns
 light up the night below.
Their street lights shimmer 
 like streamers, 
Crisscrossing the night -
Aappearing, disappearing  
Creating sparkling designs.
From the tiny bauble in the sky
I watch the light show on earth-
Mysterious and anonymous 
In the dark,
Hiding stories of crime,
 Drunkenness and love.

As the show comes to an end
The curtain lowers , lights brighten. 
Houses slums and skyscrapers pop up ,
Roads come alive with lights from streaming cars.
Glowing streets look like 
strings of pearls.

The show must end .
The cabin stirs,
Seat belts click,
We rise to leave.









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