These are the past-spring days
That could never save us
from being isolated into barren lands
The exordiums that we could never impart.
Unlike the hostile winter days
where the noons hanged with felicity
the half fountains,knowing my weaknesses
vitiated by the familiar numbness .
Hopes left unloved, unfulfilled
Resonant yet so unsatisfied
In our musings where light faded
And candles couldn’t fill wombs
The seasons still run from us
Darkened skies, no rub of conversation slips
even the new born leaves quiver
in silence dripping from whistles of air.
Quenched by wisdom of sufferings
burning with lucid requisitions
Yearning for freedom with seasoned prayers
where our united credulity prevails.