There’s a place where I go
where a certain breeze blows,
where every petal and every thorn,
every copse and every grove,
for the lost one does mourn…
for the loved one, does mourn….
There’s a place where I go,
where the birds sing a quaint song
of immortal, evergreen folklores
in music unheard before,
for the lost one to mourn…
for the loved one, to mourn…
There’s a place where I go,
where waves long to meet the shore,
watch the earth flower and grow,
crying in a melancholic drone –
and the lost one is mourned…
and the loved one,
is mourned…
© Isha Garg
LIVING THE DREAM 