The battleground is my cathedral, But, there’s more to the story, than what it appears. A war written story, from blood and from tears. My son went to war, a very proud man. He fought in Rajasthan, on the hot desert sands. He witnessed his buddies, his comrades, his men, bleeding and dying, he witnessed
when i left you i left you with words. words i regret. they taint my dreams with delicate pain and even music cannot block them out because the music is you you are everything! everywhere. you are the green waves on a Summer’s morning you are the sushi shop down the road you are the
He winces from the pain, She bleeds from her bruises, While they watch and laugh together. It hurts to move. He wants to slit his wrists, She cries herself to sleep, And they have no regrets. It hurts to blink. He vows to fight them, She promises to stand up, But they hit back harder.
She had love entranced into every part of her being. her skin was woven with love her heart pumped love yet, she felt miserable. Her eyes captured the view outside, a melancholic painting. the gloomy weather, the dark trees. the silence coming from the still of life and besides the rustling of trees from the
Dedicated to all those whose voice is yet to be heard, who lost voice among the crowd. Follow my writings on https://www.yourquote.in/piamajumdar2 #yourquote