Poem

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