They let the moments slip into a comfortable pace
A pace matching their heartbeats,
A pace their feet would automatically pick the rhythm of
The rhythm of the seas,
Of waves crashing against the shores
Shores holding in numerous souls more than secrets
The pace traced back to a moment
A moment starting with the first cry
The first Azaan
The first lick of honey
The moment.
The life.
No comments:
Post a Comment