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New Delhi, India

Freelancer

The curvature of the trembling night, Wrapped in the sweating arms of the velvet clouds. Melancholy of the captivated grandchildren of the sun, Penetrated the hearts of the dark. The moment at which, the witches cry The moment at which, the wizards pry An inconspicuous peep of the morning Witnessed by those whose eyes were seething. It perpetrated an incongruous smile The tears mirrored the evil of light. The shining armor of the morning Eliminated the remnants of the memoirs Quietly the night deceased And the velvet clouds wept till they dried The night would resurrect For the sake of being in those arms again The eyes would still wait To capture the essence of the magic