I asked the daunting wind for ‘the’ destination,
Asked the wandering clouds,
I asked the crawling trees for destination,
Asked the dark night,
I asked the rain,
it shook its head in vain,
I asked the belting fire,
asked the maddened leaves,
‘Oh, have you seen a scene that is so sinful!’
‘Have you seen the wicked destination that I seem to have forgotten?’
I asked the crimson woods,
and asked the handsome lilies,
I asked the mocking shadows,
The dancing waves
And the numbing cold
For just the Destination…

Kshitija, IBDP 1

 

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