The hour of segregating movements, made in time, time of clasping hands and wiggling fingers, moving in malaise. When unbecoming of thy self-seems pertinent, the time where the self-transcendence seems to be paling away, hazing every thought & dissolving tranquility. The static of life, disobliging, summoning that deep earthed notion to move, move far away, away from my…
Life Beyond
Observation to Words
