Moist is the grass, on a winter morn,
But moist still, are the eyes that mourn,
Deeper than the deepest of oceans,
Is the sorrow of a being, forlorn.
Echoing neither far, nor deep,
Silently, that Soul weeps,
Those tears could melt the stoniest of hearts,
But peacefully, the rest of mankind sleeps.
And so it is, year after year,
With no one to wipe away those tears,
For happier times of days gone by,
Are but today, just memories dear.
And howsoever wretched life may seem,
There is no choice but to strive alone,
For, though one life today may end,
Life, will yet, go on and on.
But moist still, are the eyes that mourn,
Deeper than the deepest of oceans,
Is the sorrow of a being, forlorn.
Echoing neither far, nor deep,
Silently, that Soul weeps,
Those tears could melt the stoniest of hearts,
But peacefully, the rest of mankind sleeps.
And so it is, year after year,
With no one to wipe away those tears,
For happier times of days gone by,
Are but today, just memories dear.
And howsoever wretched life may seem,
There is no choice but to strive alone,
For, though one life today may end,
Life, will yet, go on and on.
2 comments:
I think this is absolutely brilliant :)
On the sands of oblivion, I chased a footprint of my crippled memory...On the clouds of thoughts, I kissed a drop of my hidden emotion...
I share a lot of your feelings/ideas, Preeta... Beautifully sculpted thoughts, wonderfully expressed... cheers!!!
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