I don’t know where my pen falls weak,
Where does it become stronger.
I know its sparkling now.
Aside from numerous visions.
Voice in me narrates definition,
What gives life to unlived words.
My pen blinking upon luminous lights,
Spread all across lifeless dreams.
What do the books of heaven unwritten,
Immortal its divine fortunate presence.
What do pre-heat summers have on windows,
Of values varying with varying possessions.
What cannot end with ending time,
And what time cannot determine the end.
What promises did ends undefined,
And what dearest of mine have driven misery.
In the deepest of crisis above reality,
What talks do borrow happiness.
What splits, what makes in seconds,
What may fly beyond the verge of distinction.
~ Yetesh Sharma
