ancient indian history

Echoes of Unfaithful Dreams

Echoes of Unfaithful Dreams

For those who were not faithful,

But borrowed dreams from my heart,

Lay some flowers of sorrow,

In the tears where love did depart.

The storm may have scattered,

Our nest was built with care,

Yet in memories, our moments,

Still linger in the air.

Though faith was broken,

And promises were torn,

Let the petals of sorrow,

Mourn the love that’s worn.

In the quiet of my weeping,

Where silent teardrops fall,

Place the blooms of remembrance,

For the dreams that once stood tall.

The storm tore through 

our garden of dreams,

Scattering the nest of 

love’s gentle gleams.

We lived cautiously, step by step,

Now even in care, we’ll walk with regret.

Don’t cover her face, 

let the truth be shown,

Even the spark’s flame, 

let it be known.

In this lover’s heart,  

what secrets reside, 

Every pain, an old wound, 

we can’t hide. 

These paths are strange, 

full of deceit,

Yet we’ll endure,  no matter the feat.

We lived cautiously,  guarding our hearts, 

Now we’ll continue, though torn apart.

Don’t cover my face, 

let her truth be shown,

Even the spark’s flame,

 let it be known.

In this lover’s heart, 

what secrets reside,

Every pain, an old wound, 

we can’t hide.

These paths are strange, 

full of deceit,

Yet we’ll endure, 

no matter the feat.

In the funeral of my tears,

Lay few flowers to weep.

You couldn’t be faithful to me,

But my memories you may keep.

Storms so fierce blew through our days,

Our blooming garden was torn.

The nest of love we built with care,

Now lies scattered and forlorn.

We lived our lives with cautious steps,

Now we’ll walk even with caution.

Don’t cover her face with a shroud,

Even the spark’s flame

 they’ll call a splash.

In this lover’s heart, 

what secrets hide,

Every pain, an old wound in disguise.

I know these paths are strange and rare,

The deceits of the road, we’ll bear.

We lived our lives with cautious steps,

Now we’ll walk even with caution.

Don’t cover my face with a shroud,

Even the spark’s flame they’ll call a splash.

In this lover’s heart, what secrets hide,

Every pain, an old wound in disguise.

I know these paths are strange and rare,

The deceits of the road, we’ll bear.

We lived our lives with cautious steps,

Now we’ll walk even with caution – Alok Mohan

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