Grist Poem by Cyriac Maliakkal
Grist
I was on the ways of examine the
glorious attempts of talking
to my futuristic days
I had done my verbal works,
My shoulders were pained.
It was the poor months.
I was on a journey for future
stand.
My talents had gone into dig.
Rain had hidden my cries.
Thursday, May 25, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: future,journey
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8/28/2026 12:23:26 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
