Once again the end of a year,
Of memories, joy and tear.
It will come, as away it goes,
Laden with aroma, thorns and rose.
There is always silence in grief,
Seems like eternity, however brief.
Whispering of air, rustling leaves,
It is as if someone deeply grieves.
The innocent mind still does cry,
Though life has given one more try.
Something inside goes in vain,
Sweet dreams, visions all remain.
In futile he begs her not to leave,
destiny frowned with nothing to give.
Like clutching the wind, walking in rain,
With memoirs of happiness, rest in vain.Prasenjit©1997-2011
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