They say that our history says a lot about what we are right now. How it is a part of us. And how it can't ever be redone. But everything seems unreal. How the battles we fought died away with the mist. Our weapons corroded with time. And the empires we built crashed down. The bridges are blocked. And the territories went vacant. You called out from among the ashes, and your eyes searched from the smoke. Everything is a mess. You left wreckage and abandoned what we had. You claim victory over the battles, but your eyes wandered off from the casualties. So this is it. You've won the battle. You finally have what you wanted. But are you happy? You claim the title of being the man of this land. You are above hell, and your eyes drifted to the clouds. This is it. You've won. This is the moment you start to forget everything. I was there with you all this time. But the victory is not ours to share.
YOU ARE READING
Trinkets
PoetryIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
