The colour in my eyes, of the red blood that drops,
Or of the love and joy, destined to me, subsequent,
The feel of red, plain blood red, of all hurts and hopes,
Have I tend to forget hopes with the hurt so frequent?
Elucidation! A necessity of being, not to be ignored, henceforth,
I need to know, What's this I see - the red in air I breathe,
It could be my blood that left my veins,the end of all wrath,
Or just maybe it be,the colour of light, a happiness not a sheathe.
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Khamoshiyaan
الشعرTHE VOICE OF SILENCE. Sometimes silence describes a situation far better than words ever will, Sometimes a strange set of words describe paints it years later; The limits are set and broken by the words , The reticence ,muteness and reserve let out...
