By Dhruv Mehta
Time hasn't been same lately,
with the feathers it got, and perched it remains,
like when bird sing a song.
Lost is the essence of time in melodies,
I too write in the aura of sorrow
as your rhythm is passive,
that i can't even kick it in snare and drums,
But the time being,
Let only that little be left of me whereby i may name you my all,
Like that little seed with a message inbuilt where they name fruit it's all, I long for the same.
By Dhruv Mehta