Hazel, azure, turquoise, grey,
Piercing, cold, bright or dismayed,
Fleeting, fluttering, focused, lost,
Screaming soul through them accosts,

The tales of fractured, broken dreams,
A heart that bleeds and tears that stream,
Of a ruptured spirit, brought down to knees,
Of all the sincere unheard pleas,

A mirror to the storms inside,
The demons that within reside,
Words like embers which showered down,
Charred to cinders, yet disowned by ground,

The fanciest of masks that one might wear,
Can’t masquerade those shining spheres,
The cataclysm we so desperately disguise,
Is betrayed by those innocent pair of eyes.

 

– Shreyas Joshi

( Shy )

 

Photograph by Abhinavanand Singh.PhotoGrid_1493143037283.jpg

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