Voice
If soft, heaven ahead
If hard, meet dead
If it's of love. it's most awaited,
Moves into lonely sun's delight,
With the flower and leaves so bright.
Into the valley, on the mountains
Often into the tender rains.
Not a wait, if it's of hatred,
Into the crust, where lava hurts,
We are left to burn
Never their prints fly away
Rather it takes us to the place
From where we hardly arrive.
by:-
Vrushani Thaker
Copyright © Vrushani Thaker | Year Posted 2010
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