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