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.