Written By: Aarya Sharma
Passing age, he grew fader each time I saw him,
Distant looks, a shade of black.
The nights of his sufferings.
I remember, the soul each time I met growing dim.
Remembrance, praising, a tint of scarlet.
Talking also hurt.
Porcelain, sepia, orange, candy, azure, slate,
A frost on the ground, this and the other world, burning timber.
Crying wind, scorching cold, endless faces.
Starry sky and silent night.
Burnt ground, wilted grass, some flowers growing.
A horse was there grazing.
Exultant, curiosity, duty, love, ageing, death, senescent.
Another leaf falling way way down from the tree, it's journey complete, wasteful? meaningful?
Sands of time.
Aarya Sharma is an artist based in Delhi, India. He is pursuing architecture, and well, trying to create a minor hiccup for everyone.