looked back my inncent days
hiding somewhere in the country side
died that tiny stream in the summer
and turmoils in the rain
foot prints disappeared
no one remember forever
times heals every thing, a process
in natural way, images, love, hate
relations deposited in the heart,
its difficult to eras the primitive arts
centuries passed no any change,
vibrant wild flowers still bloom
hot wind brings the winy fragrance
a channel of fire goes
from one end to other --
mountain ashamed to cry
silent night looks more beautiful
necked rocks becomes ugly
in the light,
precious, fragile memories
makes wounds untreated
in gray shades on the secret place
some other rainy days
please turn over the lost pages.
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