That last letter I wrote to you!

In the calmness of this night,

my very own poem and my very own photography!

Lie, lay in the dungeons alive.

Lie to yourself; said my heart,

Lie and say; I’m happy,

Lie and say; my life is full,

Lie and say; you’re beautiful.

Lie and say; I need not a thing,

Lie and say; where is, trouble?

Lie and say; I too dream,

Lie and say; I know no nightmares,

Lie and say; there is no empty space.

Lie and say; I am free,

Lie and say; I there are no tunnels,

Lie and say; I know no fear,

Lie and say; I see the lights,

Lie and say; tomorrow will too be bright,

Lie and say; I see the dove taking their flight,

Lie and say; I drink from rivers of life,

Lie and say; the sorrow have demised,  

Lie and say; the doors are still open wide,

Lie and say; there’s life on the other side,

Lie and say; the sky is blue and white,

Lie and say; the soul’s music revived,

Lie and say; life is a bitter, sweet dream,

Lie and say; this dream too shall die,

I say to lie, don’t lie,

I have come this far, and your lies will never survive,

Lie, you lay your lies in the dungeons alive.

This Little Heart

Yesterday, as I was walking, talking to myself, thinking, pondering 

my head was like a carousel!

As I walked past the field, the one I daily walk by,

I watched these kids playing marbles, flying kites and chasing wind and butterflies,

Though it was hot, the sun was in its prime,

I watched these kids and some more thoughts added to this head of mine.

Took me back to those summer afternoons when I was a child,

Garden I had a lush of green, where roses, poppy, lilium use to lie,

Miss my home in that small town, where even the smallest thing was so divine,

I wish to go back in time, when I played board games with other kids near by,

Under that 60 year old Cassia, that my grandpa with love left in our little paradise,

Where little birds perched, looking at us sing tunes in our little paradise.

The tree was old, tall and strong, home it was for little feathered birds and bees,

Yellow flowers it bore in every March of mine,

Little hands of ours picked those flowers each, making magic in spring time,

Beauty was simple back in those days, 

When everything measured in love and sweet rhythm divine,

Our little hearts were filled with grace of natures love and praise.

Wonder where are those simple days?

The home, the little birds, the little heart and yellow flowers of mine!

Certain I am, they will never come by, never will they be mine,

All I'm with those memories, those sweet summers, winters and flowery spring times,

That sweet smell of my home, flowers in flowerbed that my Paa took care all the time,

Sweet relief it just is, this little heart of mine holds the riches when I was a child.