10.10.09

Roving

By Nabeel A. Khan



I am stone split from the hills

I was the face whenever it felt the hits

I was hurt and waned, the hill rifted apart

I staggered to hold on and cling

with strengthfull wills


but I was dumped for a 'blemish'

My absence made a void on its face

the hill cursed me to be faithless

I rove with every shove of wandering feet


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