The pair of shoes... speckless as it is...
arranged neatly on rack... waiting for dust to fall~
it has been a long time, time to gallop like wild horses in the great piece of open area...
run free in that unknown meadow...
where no man has ever reached...
the evenings are filled with sore... as flares sharpen the tar road as hot as the burning metal rod...
evening strolls are rare now... with so many walls around...
so many cold pavements...
there are no more chilling winds...
no more fenceless space...
it seems like a cell...
the horse lives in the cubicle cell...
its muscles wasting away the time...
the brittle bones...
a knock will bring it crushing down...
yet the greens....
the ever inviting greenery... that sprout wild in that meadow...
it looks desirable... a sign of home... a pang of home - sickness...
no, what it has just stared at is a tourism advertisement pasted on the forgotten lamp post across the road...
the edges rustle in the wind...
desiring... the freedom...
No comments:
Post a Comment