Dying heart in the hands of thy.

She walks up the lane,

Picking Sakura as in

Some fairy tale.

Looking for the Poet

Up the Hill,

She doesn’t know

Up Above

The poet lies still.

The Winter is gone

Summer creeps in,

Maple Red Leaves

Grown on the Hills.

Dreaming of the good old times,

She finds she has never had time.

Going for her dream for all those years,

Have left her today all in tears.

Missing the warmth, love

And touch of the poet,

She now recalls how would have they

Been in the Duet.

Summer is ending

Winter chilling in,

She is too old by

She reaches on the hill..

There she finds

A heart by the side,

She picks it up and,

Heart bleeds inside.

By the touch of the heart

Feels like Poet’s warmth.

The heart askd her

In a dying tone,

Lady where were you

I was dying alone.

…(Incomplete)

…Achal ‘The Dead Poet’