Reverb

In those deep shores, Searching dead shadows, fallen dried leaves.. Chills rising up the sleeves.. A walk on the battle field.. Bodies lying cried to yield.. Cold skins Watching sunset.. Win and Bow eyes wet.. Needs wait, wants desparate.. Time to deliver compassionate fate.. Birth is your Cry.. Death is when it dries.. Embrace the sigh.. Blood in rivers.. Awakening rhyme.. live For a while.. Breathe for the time.. Till the Pyre piles.. We did nt' Start it. We shall just pass it.. in between a hanging swing.. Realisation seeps and rings.. Bodies buried bodies burned.. We are more than death Churns.. 

Everyday things inspired him. He scraped the mud beneath the Tulsi plant In an empty coconut shell and filled it with some pulses inside the mud with the enthusiasm of a child, sprinkled some water on it and carefully placed it beside a show plant in his home.His father watched him, peering, clearly showing irritation and he blurted out words in anger . The child absolved it . That got me to the thinking that A child delivered is life with an exponential growth as a human, but somewhere people deliver life to grow them into their own whims and fancies. No parent would agree but inside every home, democracy , and the mediocrity ,"the system", all have an equal impact on a growing child. There is right to speech, but its wrong to say. There is right to information, but its wrong to act there is right to equality, but its wrong to the reserved. A land where people fought, sacrificed their lives for freedom, truth, Individual empowerment, still cries inside a child for expres