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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


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.







L

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