I'm ought to fall off from this stem of words which is growing old day by day, as the death falls off with age when the life's stem can't bear it anymore. I look at the ceiling which is a mere mixture of my present with the other half of my past. The part, which refuses to believe that it no longer belongs to me but to another me, who possesses just as many scars as me but perhaps not as many poems as me. Neither the wings depart the platform of my past, nor do the words but the smiles find more solace in the canoe of present, accompanied by the waves of peace. But as the sand slips off, so does time and so did this cruel poem - it slipped off from my past's hands and dropped to form the sand dunes of present. The sand dunes of present 💙 Day 15 of #100poemsfor100days My hashtag : #100scarletstairs ❤️ #aestheticthoughts #yqbaba #restzone #rzmp41 #rzmidnightpoem