Evening Walk

With sky all smiling above,

And clouds filled with love;

Glorified with stars twinkling,

Beautiful nightingales around, tinkling.

The night filled with the wind was chilling,

A heart filled with warmth was thrilling;

In the midst of bizarre,

There goes a shooting star.

Believed to be a good omen,

Making a wish is what they do in Roman;

Disappearing in a blink of an eye,

Couldn’t wish anything than to cry.

Expected the same, the next night,

Gone are those stars without a light;

Leaving is also an art of loving,

But waiting like ages is too daring.

Walking down the other night,

Cold breeze & Gloomy clouds to fight;

Thundering & lightening followed with drizzling,

Remembering the cold lips out there trembling.

Memories of that shooting star,

A heart filled with the melody of the guitar;

Regrets of not have wished,

Haunts, that seldom pinched.

In a silent night of winter,

Barking dogs are the only one who utter;

Walk to remember was that evening,

And with the belief in shooting stars, I am leaving.