No Ideas

It is obvious. In the
loss of meaning, hundreds of questions
arise. I have not remained me.

At all times, my
words scream. What has been
left behind? For one small thorn, I bleed.

Every noise appears
a foot drop. You were not coming O god,
no love reaches from the pain.

There are many unanswered questions in life. The poet tries to answer them.

Rajendra Singh Baisthakur , Nellore, AP, 524003