The lake of frozen life,

Like prose of slacked supreme.

The rows of varying visions,

Like a world of stretched sky.

The enlighten light spread across,

Those mourn and shining apart.

There is a crush inside,

To sense, spread, the shine of life.

May the instinct wonder longer,

As to whom it will shower?

The grave of death, the valley of crept,

Maybe it rounds upon the verse!

That ends with sunshine hay,

Crave and crouch as to whom to pray…

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A Man in the Night

Dearest Of Mine

Yetesh Sharma