Brindha’s blog

THEN:

Coffee break was a silence
between their love that was whispers,
intimate, intricate, integral.

Their honeysuckle hearts a symphony
amidst the air that was an orchestra,
scintillating, stimulating, soulful.

NOW:

Silence has become a never-ending break
between their love that is a wrinkle of time,
dull, dreary, dismal.

Fractured hearts nothing but a friction in oblivion
amidst the air that is a shadow of the mundane,
sullen, sulky, sour.

Will slivers of nostalgia revive their lifeless life?

Copyrights @Brindha Vinodh

Ghazal second attempt:
Based on FB prompt:
My second tribute to soldiers parallel to a Triolet posted earlier.

Through history they live, soldiers don’t die
Sacrifices galore they give, soldiers don’t die.

In the mystery of their own homecoming
their heart and soul misgive, soldiers don’t die.

As in pages of tapestry that breathe history
they build their own archive, soldiers don’t die.

Engraving history as lions of battle,
their own lives they outlive, soldiers don’t die.

Misery reigns belittling one’s own family
that sanguine rains forgive; soldiers don’t die.

Brindha pays her obeisance to them
for in fortitude they relive; soldiers don’t die.

Copyrights @ Brindha Vinodh