Like one moody disturbed Sea <br />strange is day with its sudden <br />moodswings, steals the lights <br />like one empty lamp without any <br />gleam to offer and the faint shine <br />of morning, powered by winter wings; <br />a convict, fatigued earth rolls, each day <br />a page of surprise in existence <br />on a shredded misery in adverse <br />the silent, standstill universe <br />petulant on several unanswered <br />questions, endorses finally one <br />signature on melting hardness <br />of scattered hate. <br />In one sacred temple of blessed life <br />perhaps alchemist designs metal <br />and transforms into pure gold to free <br />self to attain realisation <br />and it is better to survive on a life <br />which is more gifted... <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />13/12/2008<br /><br />Rema Prasanaa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/e-l-i-x-i-r/
