Falling Bricks

From the blank book can I lift some questions for the lofty hopes when I lost myself near the home ? The fear was darting inside the white sores. Keys were lost for the answers and truth fell castrated. The magic was fading from the cusps of designs, unconceived thoughts were seeking proportionate punishments. Congeniality drifted from the architect of hominid species. A nameless storm plays havoc. Humble peaks bow before the unmeasured meteors. You can shut the orphanage now; no bombs are bound for the wet crypts. Satish Verma