clock's arm slowly walks towards twelve,
towards the mysterious, blank door.
time gently opened the lock,
cleared the block,
leads, to the nineteenth walk.
Stepping into a new path,
paved with unexplored possibilities and, laughs?
Eyes to the front,
but the front itself, is blurred;
layers and layers of mist,
veiled the upcoming road.
a shy braid's hiding,
Stuffy, humid air moves along wind's breath;
hides, distant floral senses,
attempting for a further step,
a step closer to its dangerous intoxication.
A rush of wind runs,
over bare raw skin;
shiverings and frightenings follow,
races fast every second.
Eighteen attempts tried,
zillion of steps have been taken,
on this every-changing road;
reaching out for zillion of unknowns.
This,the nineteenth attempt,
road confuses vision as ever;
puts no end on the exploration,
but runs, hastily for all potential opportunities.
another new door is now opened.