It wasn’t a promenade
Of the collage of memories,
Which is about to fade
In the alley of reality.
Can’t you feel its osculation?
Long before in the depth of woods;
Amidst the ooze of your fascination;
Pliable as the skin of yours.
Betwixt the narrow lane between us,
Which was thinner in long past;
Our time has gone away in a rush,
Alas! Our blood was soaked in the dust.
Our souls have been swept in the tide,
Contemplation is the thing I can find.
Hope future won’t let us die,
Till the dawn comes across the Rhine.
– Ankit Manna
