ATTIC
Hoping, the breeze will take the shape of a storm
The rest metamorphoses into unrest, leading to a revolution,
The loss of identity inspire to germinate Mankind,
The thoughts sediment like in sand clock in my attic.
The clock, the witness, of every breadth taken (or not taken);
Life betray but death never;
Dreams reside in the clouds, felt, but never consumed;
Sacrifice redefines pleasure.
Collecting bits of life in a mindful
Many are lost, making the picture incomplete,
Today the rain outside had made my attic wet
Need a storm to make it dry.
Abhishek Bagchi
Date:
No comments:
Post a Comment