One day when the sun shall rise
and the world's short of a pair
of eyes. Someone negotiates
the price of wood in shambles.

The sunshine won't wake me up
The shuttered eyes couldn't be
forced open. On my desk an
abandoned pen shall wait.

An unfinished poem shall attract
only the the words of praise.
Good or bad won't matter. Perhaps
an eye shall pick, an invisible thread.

The incomplete poem shall be
completed, when firm hands
shake the dust off my dreams.
A seed shall crack open.

There one flower shall bloom
on the earth, where my ashes wait.
Blissful roots of a pregnant sky
reach earth to bind the loose sand.

20th November 2009

Nikunj Sharma

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-22/