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Lost I am but hopes I have


Woody are these streets,
Woody are my ways,
Guarding are these trees,
Haunted is this place.


Hazy is this air,
Foggy is my mind,
No one I can hear,
No one I can find.



Nothing is here or there
except more of these trees.
Ease I feel with birds
A worry I feel with this silence.



Someone stares at me but ops! It’s the tree,
Someone glares me but ops! It’s the birds which flee.
My ways are lonely and scaring,
But my goals are hoping and caring.


Neither I will die nor will I be fired,
One day my worries will end & I will be admired...

By Nistha Goel

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