By Praharsh Pranay
The autumn flower blooms
To live a cold breath.
Blooms next to that old tomb,
A gentle tug at the cloak of death…
The spring orchards wither,
The autumn flower blooms.
Withered; the moss on that old tomb,
How? I wonder, but it met its doom…
Cruel; the fate-weaver’s loom,
To let that old tomb,
Engraved in deathly gloom,
Catch a whiff of the blooming autumn flower…
To have loved is to have lived,
To have lived is to have died.
The tomb moss withered,
The autumn flower bloomed,
All upon my old tomb…
By Praharsh Pranay
So, this is my writing and I hope everyone who reads it will find something in it that they needed.