Suraj Marahatta

The Symphony constructed in the C minor key Was supposed to gift me the emotions of love, Instead it is lamenting about an unhappy love Which is tainted in my sighing love-sick soul.

My words aren't usually backed up by the facts Tempted to fathom rather than to memorize

Gardening my abyss with mirrored thoughts Aligned perfectly to the northernmost pole Cold breeze sweeps the face clean, hair upright ‘Come back to reality, you don’t seem alright’.

Wonderful discovery, demise of a soul Remembered for? Oh, nothing? but gold. Some say it’s been farmer, others say poet Either don’t make much, its life is a joke.