Shadows from a fleeting sun

The shadows I left still linger, long ago in the marshes of time

warm, from the fleeting sun.

Memory, a forgotten dying rose pressed tight

among pages of careful letters of love.

Faded glimpses of life litter the streets,

hazy mentions, of what was before.

Love lingers cautiously down the road

training its sinewy fingers along crumpling walls.

Watching as the rain falls and the earth blooms,

the night dawns and the day falls,

until it collapses, a tired heap.

Dawn brings a singing sun,

and roses that grow from the strength of the fallen.

Prashamsa Manchiraju