Dry Flowers

The trees and the plants of my child hood, and fond memory of my friends,

Non existant pieces of past... today rest under the concrete... hardened.

I look through shapes of spades and diamonds, for a dream misplaced by the wind...

Lost in the gamble of life my heart, gone is the esence but the flower remains...

Dried flowres... life less, but pretty, are now trying to fake a grin,

This is where my garden lived, this is where my hope ends.

Just one more shade of the same gulmohar, one more shower of that rain...

I will start afresh for a new horizon, a new journey once again...