a crimson sky,
a blue horizon,
a careless troupe of albatrosses, yawning.
A voiceless master of the puppets,
feeding the salt in the air to its children.
an ownerless horse dreaming of grasslands,
a dog treading the unending shores,
a graveyard of the sand-castles,
All patiently wait for the sunset.
It stays, I believe,
within each one of us.
One of the few things, the death
allows us to take with us.
Did you ever notice?
© Shashank Bhardwaj