With a garden of flowers in my heart,
I am waiting for you to come,
so that I can make a bed for you,
and light a lamp in your honor,
O hope! O, my estranged love!
But sorry, my darling, I cannot kiss you,
this time around, my lips are stained
with blood, and quietly enfolded
in my arms, there is death – herself.
brilliant writing as usual, Bhuwan, and interesting artwork. you have mastered the art of knowing where to end a poem (something that's always tough for me) and I always enjoy the personification you incorporate. Dawn
Just as life during the pandemic was color-coded with different hues representing different levels of danger, life in its aftermath has become shaded in similar ways. As a self-styled “Seeker of Beauty with Beauty,” (borrowing from a quote by W.E.B.
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Ron
another well penned write Bhuwan
Peace
William
Regis
Love Tinka