When the birds take off to sky
Clear wet round mirrors on leaves
Reflect some light
I'd say its time to write
When the glory of sea
Meets the slipping brown sand
And paints it frothy white
I'd say its time to write
When the fisherman throws
His net far wide
Serene lake caged in ripples slight
I'd say its time to write
When the child closes his eyes
For his first prayer ever
Folding his hands tight
I'd say its time to write
When that bullet kills
And the one who reached
The revolver first sighs
I'd say its time to write
When feelings erupt
With lines taking shape
Of ideas bright
I won't say - I'd just write.
Until the fourth para everything seems calm but the fifth one jolts one out of that reverie!
ReplyDeleteNeat.
ReplyDeleteNice! -Neha
ReplyDelete@Nikki - Well! :)
ReplyDelete@Shakti - Thanks!
@Neha - I know about 5 Nehas. Thanks! Glad that you liked it.