It was all gloomy and sequestered
The woods dotted all the dirt track
The heaviness couldn’t be done away with
It seemed to be misanthropic
But there was none
The darkness widespread back and forth
Suddenly,a rumble boom rung the back of the orchid
All revamped and reoriented
Like hands appeared and made a mud pot
A voice came and got into man’s soul
And said” my child take care of this green land
And make it the vault of heaven”
And the light which the voice was engulfed in
Evaporated soon,
It appalled and startled
The voice ebbed trusting Its fabrication
And commenced to hide itself in every tiny thing found
The man knew the fact and soon there were dozens
And dozens,
As the score ameliorated
The vows of the voice commenced to vanish
And it could hardly let anything to be done
As the certitude of the accord declined
The only consequence was that
The living on which it was based on
Tended to shake itself as far as it could to jog the man’s memory
Still then he eliminated the woods beneath and all over which
The holy voice hid itself and sobbed on the havoc
Despite this the man was the same
A renegade and voice must have lamented on ”tis creation
And let it all done to him.
Said”let the back stabber be all defiled by him”
The end is still awaited but
The voice has a hope as the voice was none but
The creator the God almighty,
And the rationale for hope
Is we are made from Him
By Parul Khanna

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