Strains stretching, <br />my neurotic spells, <br />and hate rendering, <br />whatsoever, <br />the humour burning to miser, <br />staring walls with design of ill. <br />Glottis to strangulate, <br />with hopeless utter, <br />and crying feebled to hoarse, <br />Like a bird to disapear in horizon <br />and desire longed to finish, <br />like candle thread, <br />another desert stands to cross along, <br />and feet to blister with hot sand, <br />storm is to blow his wistles, <br />like hiss of snake, . <br />and mine struggles are right but late,<br /><br />Rafique Farooqi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/right-but-late/
