Every now and then,
When the light came with the dawn.
Do they burn the wishes,
And leave the show.
For, who heals the wounds
and the sorrow.
None but the tiny tears,
and the rolling thoughts.
A hundred fires,
Belief reigns.
Signs and faith lead,
To the new world,
with the blossomed soul.
2 comments:
Very nice .... This one...Can call it lucid ...especially when its your poem :)
Veryyy Nice...
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