Wilted crimson with gushes of gold,
Was the sole beauty she saw,
As the spray on which she nestled,offered solace.
Out of wonderlust and desires,
She noticed a couple of leaves,betraying those,
Who had dared to dance,
By the unforgiving rhythm of the summer breeze for the grey waters below.
Clearly discorded with their touch,
The puddle,gloomily rippled with discontent,
Causing the unfortunate,unholy moment of delusion
To engulf her,as she gravely believed
The darker colours looking back at her
Were her own.
~Diya Banerjee
