When dragons cried

your memory

comes in the way of my memory

the hearts divulge, it is

their subtle art of treachery

the last stubborn leaf

on a windy autumn night

simply wouldn't let go

how many seasons more

will it cling

through glimmer moonlit skies.

invisible splash of shimmering white

on the blackened canvas

rendered across a starless sky

i lived the day , when dragons cried

a flutter of emotions , the missing heartbeat

been ages last i watched you sleep

couldn't help but smile

that passerby

was the stubborn love that shy

touch didn't last one kiss

blink of an eye, ceased to exist

the frequent hoist

on a sodden roof so slippery

your memory comes in the way of my memory

the hearts divulge, it is

their subtle art of treachery.

A young monk in red.

Wanted to share this beautiful poem written by Shubham.

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A young monk in red,

burns on the street...

beside your house.

You watch in silent amusement..

as his prayer wheel spins and spins,

still sending out prayers,

of peace and love...

Love is all he asked for

peace is all he lived for

truth is all he persued,

right from childhood...

even before he'd known what it meant..

his brother too lies on the street..

in a pool of blood

from the bullet's wound..

(he'd not seen a gun so he hadn't feared it).

They had taken away his home..

they had killed all his family

they'd even chased away his God..

he had lived beside you,

and he had loved you

although you never knew..!

and how could you..?

you were too busy in your daily problems..

which never actually were,

so you hadn't seen their pain,

like you do not see the burning neighbourhood...

But you will...soon,

'coz he lived beside you, remember..?

and the flames he burns in, will touch you..

eventually..

when no one will be left to run to.

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