By Tanisha Baranwal
The butterflies of my night sky
Have no mirth,
Wandering betwixt the woods
Chasing the maelstrom
And
Twirling around the lamentable:
Blossoming the flowers deep inside my soul,
A malison to my heart
And a curse to my soul;
The heart rending astral ,dainty bluebells,
Tiny morellos;
Twinkling and leaving me addled :
Gleaming at the scarlett moon,
Chasing me for eternity .
But hope springs eternal,
Gateway to mirth
Is to deceive the wrath,
To go nigh lark
One has to take the peril:
To get out of paracosm,
The bridge of the maelstrom has to be crossed.