Across the Wind Mill

ACROSS THE WIND MILL When the mind is sucked in a pandemonium, Fingers play with the sand grain, Eyes are in search of some sunshine, But, brain says, now breath is at end. When breath becomes like , A storm in the Wind mill, When sun seems to come, Down from the uphill. When moon melts in, Front of the eyes, When there are only downs, and no highs. Just hold your breath, Close your eyes, Feel the breeze , Passing by. If the heart says “Things are not mine”. Just make it chill, Say, “It’s just not the right time”.