Sordid days

Bright Light. Small ship. Sail hard.

Walk to the moon. That’s the green.

Who saw the sun? It’s the wild card,

That makes the writer and the write

But the thirst quenches the sordid

But the name is the sunlight.

It’s the anantkal*, the endless soil

But what makes the sinkhole.

It’s the man that made the salt.

No salt, more green.

Amidst chaos lies the calm…

…The calm of the mankind;

Dollar to dust

Perhaps green to glory.

But what may come might lose?

May be love, may be lust.

Warmth lies within the palm of the hand.

Lies told may hold, but would you be bold?

I shall be waiting with the green torch;

And may that sun sail down the …


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