The tears laid their forlorn way
When found dreams, made of clay

It remained only dream,
As people went grey
‘Our lost memories can never
Return’, as they say

Sitting in balcony,
Grey bearded man
Looking at the sky,
The flock of Doves ran

The man, remembering
hunting, they used to do
The present life, not
Any life, he tends to boo

Stuck to that imagination,
The hunting in peace
The flock of Doves, recreating
That with golden fleece

‘That serenity can never be brought
Back’, the old man thought
The old times, showed peace of
Mind, as old man sought

That forgotten word,
Never originated again
Since the dreadful time
Of unrest had began

Cloudy winds, bringing
Back past with rain
But the rain, red coloured
Turning in that pain

In that piercing unrest,
Dreams just fancy
That unrest, where life
Of people just chancy

How would you expect,
The life like past
As the abyss of oppression
Have claws vast

Only freedom, in that unrest,
A vision of mind
That vision, spreadeagled with
Ropes, pretending blind

That thought of peace,
Which made him glad
After knowing, only a
Dream, made him sad

Only way, to sought tranquility
Is that imagination
The exploration of peace,
An example of temptation

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