Monday, April 6, 2015

Eulogy to a Past

Loquacious sun
retelling stories to the
land, one after one, again
and again, never feeling tired

One day, a man traverses
through a mystical land
of only two flowers,

One is a reserved bud, a shy,
terse flower, speaking itself
some monologues
to stay alive

Another is happy,
outwards, unafraid
and chatters of rosaries

Both outside the autumn
field of life, of vitality

Both hurt from the light,
the sun of stricken time

Both leaning outwards
perpetually, standing apart from each other
and never seemed to bear colours


The sun felt tired to retell the story.

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