Plant of grief.

there's a plant in this graveyard.
with roots that go deep enough.
to caress who will never,
branches with the frameless
portraits of unscared memory hangs.
leaves that are old enough not to be forgotten,
but strong enough not to be broken,
dead flowers and their neighbors,
who honor the sleep of dead,
fruits that are unfit for consumption
but perfectly suited to hold in grief.

-Shreeya.

Dreamers learn to fly.
Everything seems so magical.

hidden by fears.
and people, he sits.
alone.
unable to comprehend,
The thoughts that swim across His
mind.
drowing him.
Drowning him in an ocean,
ocean of oblivion.

.....and as we wind down the roads,
Our shadows taller than our souls.
Solidarity.

High noon.
Oh. I'll sell my soul for water.