All Roses on the Gunshots

And the night shall fall short to spell,

Another rain on the parched blood soaked in airy blue.

To let hopes sulk in deep on concrete black road,

Waiting to roll over with words invited to crack skulls open.


Speak to me in unison of superiority sprouting out of courtesy,

There informs many, the people who have heads up in the sky.

Tell them to tie their knots well, of this hope the well of failure does not wither,

And let the vacancy of earth welcome your dreams into your colossal past.


Its all roses on the gunshots, the hates spread and help is profane,

All dirt for driest lips waiting to see a sight of yours.

Is it what left of you where deep down you were,

A memory like rays of hope dripped in sunny sleepy afternoon.


O dear! Be not you if the rose, tendered and loved,

Needed was no gunshots firing from my pen.


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Yetesh Sharma