Nothing is optimistic,
land lying pale and dark.
No one is seen,
no one to hark.
Sun seems to have taken leave,
from the sky, were now clouds heap.
Chilly winds blow from the west,
subsiding furry if any left.
No Hardy's thrush sings
any evensong, to be heard
as if the bird had also
foreseen and shrugged.
The wait is what my mind says,
behind bad times good fortune lays.
When I sit by on terrace
to wander far,
bleak dreary truth broke
to me every time.
Listing to woeful chime
which plays beyond far.
I yearn for good light from God,
show the path, my great Lord.
Have courage then God says,
bad times don't forever stay,
I should rather sleep tonight,
to wait long,
for tomorrow would be great and bright.
YOU ARE READING
The Long Road To Home
PoetryA collection of 50 poems composed by me, aka Ashish Khare. These are the ones I wrote during lockdown. Here, I talk about feelings like loneliness, incomplete love and even patriotism. Give these a read!
