Monday, 6 June 2011

From where, the wretched calls
Coming in the midnight,
On the layer of wind, is it droplet
Of dews, or dripping the eyes,
Whose voice echoing in the
Valley, is it the breathing
Or else, why the mist becoming
Dense, flowers are falling
Before the mellowness,
In the infinite hush, what’s sound
Of breaking, or someone
Whispering the last desire to say
Entire life’s saga, undisclosed
Wounds of heart, a blazing
Of injured emotion,
Is it knocking the door somebody
To show the bleeding chest,
Who is walking on the
Edge of sharp vertical broken
Glass, is it mystic night of
Graveyard, the shadows are
Burning, what’s that, in the smoke
Sparkling points or something
Wants to say good-bye, desires
A release from the trap of
Adoration, possession,
Night has no answers, as reticent
Keeps itself in isolate, probably
It laughs, is moon is sinking
Into the lake of life, who
Knows the trace of morning
Please wait before the end of night,
Do not remove the face dear 
Let me live to some moment in your
Mystic eyes, here is my destination,