elegies

' tis but a brook in your heart fastness in our bosom yet, i ambutate my eyes to see and see, drunken season i wreath bizarre storms mundane the czar- i say his throbbing heart,  bleeding a calamitous fate her troth was mere an enigmatic prospect i wade in grief glistening blue beneath dawn's golden bruise  glimmer in her eyes a wife- she, a widow long before her vows were taken  a brisk encounter with  a fellow sufferer  buoyant her soul 'tis a lover's trumpet they say heard in the valleys,  through the gale yet, he was playing deaf                                          - shreya

when travellers tell the tales i wish to persist amongst the ineffable beauty of the pages that hold the remnants of history servants serving my fidelity to the brethren of every world ephemeral years of my existence i must elect fame or i ought to remain unsung my wicked heart confer it's dialect to a place much visited above, it was lain though the scholars believe it to be heart's kinsman upon my grave bestow Your kin hands for one day i will be consigned to oblivion but i shall return  to break it to every man                       -shreya