The Chill

There is a chill in the morning air

Which raises my hair,

As it brushes past me,

Slowly and steadily,

Like an ox-carriage

On it’s way back to a village

From the hustle of  a city.

And this chill never fades;

Instead it rises.

Sometimes even till my throat 

And eyes;

Such that it is impossible 

To get a sight

On flowers and caterpillars,

Broken huts and towering buildings,

Which form the walls 

Of the well

I have fallen into. 

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About zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

6 comments

  1. Very nice poem. Good lines.

  2. Rahul D'Cruz

    Ending. 😀

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