The Aroma Of Solitude

By T. Pratiksha Reddy

Under the misty moonlight

And above the dying field

As the roses began to wither

Forming dust for the next yield

A night bird sang in mellow

Far away from the lonely land

Comforting the pain- stricken

Like offering a welcoming hand.

The wind gave its cheerful try,

As she blew around the gloom

Wiping away the drying tears

Again, to see them bloom.

The desolate gazed at the sky

Admiring the moon, the starry lights

Recollecting moments of lost hope

And woeful memories of magical nights.

As the dark soothed the depressed

Like a warm blanket on a frizzy evening

Their minds vowed to their hearts

Of a bright and new beginning.

Yet, every night of grief

When hope began to die

Among the withering field of roses

The broken, yet again, sighed.

For it was their haven of solace

The smell of dew drops in the air

For the roses reminded them of self

As the fireflies twinkled ever so rare.

A shelter for their insecurities

The only figment of their own

Here lied their centuries old secrets

Of how peaceful it was to be alone.

By T. Pratiksha Reddy