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Silence broke into tears
But cried with authority of a heavy rain
With a prescription of a rule of the land
How many still write,
in autumn bells ?
when gentle dew sickles the nerves of my brain
tighten the bronchial tree of my chest
when your wings will broom the dust of the wound
behind the door of my aging heart ?

When the day will increase fresh greenery
Around the tiring garden of long passing life
And protect all the wedding stories
And save them for next generations and
Not allowing them to die
In a flooded storm of worldly intelligentsia ?

The dry leaves will remain burning
In the high temperature of June of My country
the serene calm river of wisdom will invite me drown
In Her depth up to the pebbles and sand
settled loosely in her breast flowing with deep water, but
The winter of coming life will try to frost my fertile brain
but the sacred heart reminds me to reach
the Ocean of the colored horizon

So I should be baptized or Initiated by the Guru
To follow the word of God or name of God
To know, realize and experience the hell or heaven of emotions
But, Some are so mature to become their own teacher
to write with their own pen on their own paper

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~