I just imagined myself as an old writer writing out his experiences in the form of a poem..the last para is just for the sake of a good poem...
All the mountains and fields
Where my life was spent
How those golden hours passed?
I never still could figure out!
They were the most wonderful days!
Those precious heavenly nights
Filled with green and blossoming things!
Where life flowed brilliantly around!
But now I see the world
As a blind man!
There is no awe, there is no light!
I sit still unmindful of the varying time!
SRINIDHI.R
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I liked it.Old days will be painful for sure.
ReplyDeleteNice one! I can clearly see that you are approaching poetry quite seriously. Good luck!
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