• shubhankarg 6w

    A walk to the countryside,
    forest growing for sunshine.
    roads ending as a marriage,
    held in the sight of a lover.

    A cave in the deserts of time,
    sand slipping off the soul and
    life wanting for a broken vase.

    A winter too long to see a flowering river and
    too short to build a snowhouse, a burned photographer lights a million candles near my cemetery.

    A tulip growing to die.
    -Shubhankar