When the moorland, bathes in, monsoon’s blood
And mosses, sprout on, the dead mermaid’s bones
They don’t stink, but smell of, summer’s bud
Remembrance of a dream, in a farm, of tombstones!
A thought, flows down, the parting stream
To never return, until, next rain
How long shall, I lose, and redeem
Myself, in you, your pious pain!
You were, the hope, I had, ever kissed
With a, faithful heart, and a fearful soul
That legacy, of love, reminisced
Immortal love, now, growing ole!
On your lap, may I, slumber to death
Whilst your, silence sighs, my monolog
Your misery, moans, my every breath
Since We, Last Sat, On The, Fallen Log!
© 2021 Vikas Chandra