Author: Aashi Sharma, Class VIII F
Clouds of grey agony haunt before me
I brace myself for the storm’s deafening company
Dewdrops of old fog my mirror
And all at once the fields of dandelions are cleared
Through the mist I witness my distorted reflection
Her hair in two braids with a juvenile smile hoping for resurrection
Though unfortunate for her the storms stolen all the prims
And I cease to remember all her dearest hymns
Her eyes form a distortion of her very own
I tell her I’m sorry her sweaters now unsewn
She’s begging and crying as she in mist deform
For I was left no choice but to swipe away the frost as I face the storms alone.
Sometimes I stare into the eyes of the evening sun,
As its tears of marine form into one
Strikes of red stubbornly paint the sky,
As twinkles of remembrance overtake the cries
I sit with the peace of my very own mind,
Thinking of the ever so simple life
Busy alarms and late nights,
Running home into warm arms and loving sights,
So as everyone races into the success fight,
Part of me just wants to spend late evenings staring into the sun’s faithful eyes.
