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A Tale Of Life

By Arpan Gupta

Darkness beheld an abstruse faith,

An aureate streak of dawn.

A crimson touched hand that trembles in care,

An aphonic symphony is born.

A cold touched brew, an odor sweet,

The sorrow of a winter morning.

In the silence too tranquil, a hiatus that rose,

Bore the life new meaning.

A desolate wind, that sprouts in part,

It is the strike of noon.

The crescent of the smile, the celerity of the foot,

The promise of tomorrow that comes soon.

A streak of lightning rages across the sky,

The afternoon sun veils behind a dark shower.

The evanescent memories of yesterday, a farewell that must come,

In her hand a four leaf clover.

The birds of regret, of pain and of dolor,

Tweet into the dark of dusk.

The hands that once fed now cold as snow,

The shake of the hands now lusk.

The fire crackles in the dark, a heat of affliction,

The twilight has come anew.

The wrinkle of a torn sheet, inscribed on it with wretched ink,

“Do not fret, for I will always be with you.”

Now, in the dark of the pale night,

A time of mourning,

A hushed tear falls,

To fulfill the promise of bringing back the beauty of the morning.

By Arpan Gupta

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