The hill

daytime
Trees on the hill murmur the sad hymn
To white death
By nighttime they scream it in fear
as their leaves shake and shiver
Far far away,
The white death is on his way,
Whistling!
Montreal

I hate it! I hate where i am standing now, physically and mentally even spiritually! I immigrated to a country that is winter not long ago. Before that, everybody's comment on my decision was "just do it! brace yourself! you have to decide!". But they neglected a very essential fact that this poor guy doesn't know how to think and contemplate! He only has a heart with no thread connecting it to his head! Now I see the sun at the end of the road just amid the dust of the road! I am too frightened by what I have done, the decisions I have made! the life i have chosen but the flower in my room has just bloomed today and tells me "I will wither soon, look at me and enjoy my naked beauty. Love it by your hard 'cause tomorrow is not coming, like your shadow it runs away from you." - Montreal