Ravin Sharma

A new world lied below me,
in shield of my shadow.
It cried; a tear fell off me
on its sparkled cheeks.
...

In an empty room, with emptiness glaring at itself,
Through a mirror, through walls, I stared at myself.
Those birds in my dream sang for my freedom every night
And then those walls would then turn to me and shone bright.
...

I burn inside but I glow outside
I live in blackness, but I am the god of shadows.
I am a friend but I am a killer.
I never lie, I never die.
...

Words are frisk but not frolic,
enslaved due to wars won by our logics.
We don't have to live in this heat,
but the sun we aim to beat
...

Faces are forgotten but derided words are never dead.
The faces frown as if lilies could stare at ugly lives.
They are not prisoners for their bars are not mirrors.
They are not the intent of Gods but moonlight in the darkness.
...

A little of our words matter,
Like this little place,
a heaven on our race.
A little of our lies matter-
...

To tell the world we are fine,
Reveled up with shammed sunshine,
our lies remain ingrained in our life.
The shadowed lift us to the sky,
...

You're a bird in the wild,
Flying high in the sky.
With fear, do you shake?
Which wins do you fake?
...

Deep sea and the sharp sharks
and before me, on the land, the dogs bark,
joining hands for help to save me from these darks,
and they were just playing with me with dangerous larks
...

Water that sprays my eyes,
whose drops awake my sighs.
I close and the tears get off my eyes.
The tears were the water in the pond
...

A new season emerges every year.
New beauties, new world, it wears,
New flowers, new fruits come out,
And the Magpies for the spring, shout.
...

Another click for me
And the flash tortures me
I saw still,
that the mischievous spirits made me ill
...

Every stroke reminds me,
my pain, that I bear as a vain.
Every steps reminds me, my lane,
far off the ocean, which I want to gain.
...

Dark lights in sleep,
Flashes or smiles indeed.
"Sweet dreams" sings mother;
Pencils are ready,
...

Off from the blue, near the waiting cold,
at a sheer shore of a sail, untold
ever, that odd amongst the souls, gold.
Beauty bedraggles in this water dashing uphold,
...