SHUTTERED
A wayfarer I have become on this desert, with pebbles in my shoe. With empty pouches, anxiousness makes my mouth dry and all I hear is the complaint of my belly. My HEART and MIND at war and I wonder, what will become of me if their mockery becomes ugly with time. And my wobbling limbs on the other hand will be out in no time, and for a second my death wishes were flashing before me. A seal is all I need, for I believed the wind will carry my wishes to my loved ones. To be dressed, viewed by all
