The speed of my automobile exclusively Depends on the wheelman which earth born Crave where the passengers await it destination, Seeing an endless road ahead. Every four years is its renewal with the Hope of getting to the promise terra-firma Where the Israelites peregrinate to With despondency from it adversaries. Only the strong survive to drive the car twice.
Oh! My wrecked car needs help; Oh! My foolhardy driver needs help The despoiled car got it wound from exterior Forces; where there is no necessity for protect, Asthenic tyre dawdle the speed. The engines that fabricate the car now hassle Each other with hopeless range in anger. In this car, life live by the way car live life.
My enfeebled heart deems of the Mechanic who can revamp my sick car. My position calls for change which we need; Marooning us inside the darkest tunnel to fracas, The predators which we see not. Let’s have a heroic search, Seeing not the vices of the past motorist.
Wheel the car oh driver! Wheel the car to the right path That the passenger serene Wheel pass the motor park where other, Cars swift with competition among them My car my bucolic with countless myriad resources.
Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the
Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay
I mawkishly effeminate sentiment, memories plucked from wood and field merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion microscopic minuteness of eye, misgivings of grave kinds mockery crept into your tone, molded by the austere hand of adversity moments