The shifting sands prolong the hours,
Of silent poignant thought,
The visions of a pale sky blur,
Criss-crossed by flooding sunlight.
My instruments are no longer of any use.
Strings have long rusted.
I hear morning’s retreating footsteps,
The windows to my room, still shut.
The bird has left its secure nest,
A flight into uncharted horizon.
A solitary butterfly struggles to get free,
Out of the dusk, its cocoon.
The lissom drops of cold rain,
Fog my crystalline window pane.
Whilst the war of thunder rages on,
As swords of lightning clash against its shield.
DHRUV KANODIA|PGDM 2015-17