Just above the skyline
and beyond the horizon,
there rests a wish I make during the twilight hours.

Mosaic wish with feathers and moonstone and phantom pain,
I blow regularly with my fuchsia lips.
Tiny sparkles in air
praying hymns of God
and singing elusive wishes.

I carry the weight of my countable desires
like the luminous colors of rainbow.
Sprinkling in the lap of universe,
waiting to be heard itself by mother Earth.

What is a hope that isn’t felt by your heart
What is a dream that doesn’t rejuvenate your senses
What is a true wish that isn’t manifested by God itself?

-Shreya Sharma

By Shreya Sharma

I read poems. Sometimes I write poems. And when I am doing nothing, I am sipping coffee.


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