Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected - i lay
naked
exposed
still
cold
alive to sounds of death around me
unfeeling
deaf
immune
comatose
dancing to tune of the last dirge
unbound
soaring
escaping
leaving
imprisoned by memories of the living
Not under dark clouds
Nor under any pressure to perform - i sang, silently.
(done by avinash subramaniam as an exercise where you take the first two lines of a great poem and ruin it with personal mediocrity.)
