Howling wind!
Why were you gathering the―
dead leaves, sweeping
the desolate white road?
A bleak and dismal emptiness
in-between, the
no man's land.
Thousand eyes watch the tiny flurries.
The perfect peace,
descends.
From moon's navel,
falls the golden bloom.
Why were you gathering the―
dead leaves, sweeping
the desolate white road?
A bleak and dismal emptiness
in-between, the
no man's land.
Thousand eyes watch the tiny flurries.
The perfect peace,
descends.
From moon's navel,
falls the golden bloom.
Satish Verma
No comments:
Post a Comment