By Dr. Prerana Sarma
My dreams' silhouette
Brushed on a blank diary
Silent dreams,
Never are they given feathers to fly.
They lay softly on the blank diary.
Silent dreams,
Wrapped in warm love
Spill over pages and pages of the diary.
Seasons pass by,
The diary gets a little rusted.
Dreams, now old and aged
Awaits time to colour the silhouette.
Silent dreams,
Tired, lay weak on time's lap.
Time too, tired of colouring silhouettes of others
Lay weak on silent dreams's chest.
They hug each other,
And breath.