Waves of a woven place;
Dragged here by this breeze.
Freezing over the meadows of agony,
Flying with a rhythm of Spring.
Dates had fallen, over the Shrines of Love;
Forget what has been haste, as the nectar is still to taste.
Also Read: ‘WATER HOLDS WATER TOGETHER’
Joy near every sorrow,
Eager to conquer the aliveness of Nature.
Has it been done? Has it been living?
Has it gone? Or has it molten over?
Foreshadow this dark light,
For you will rise, you will rise.
The mountain peaks frozen with snow,
So lustrous, shaking the depth of the freeze.
The leaves spread over, sounding like the harmonious flute,
Crawling towards the bluish cloud.
Reverberating, cruising and shielding the joy of this place.
The sky turning pale, into the rhyming gaze.
The strange echo of some strange voice,
Flourishing into the chilli breeze of November.
Hearts mourn for the sweetest stanza,
Raining in the midst of a fountain.
Crippled over the mountain of cramps,
Taking back the casts of stamps.
Winner of this month’s teenage writing competition
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