Tuesday, 22 February 2011


A pale face of grave
Once adorned—Flowers—
Dead and strewn ;
And a few torn memories
Kissing a passionless coffin.

The dirge mellows
The pain is burnt
Droplets weep;
The wan sky hangs
A long scythe of rainbow
Neatly drawn in colours of grief.

Rejoice, O Soul
Paint on seamless images of death
Upon placid pool of expressions.


For years they have been there--stoically oblivious To the world slipping out of time--caged in the dungeon of Down-shelves in my library...