What’s found now was found then
Never was a time
That didn’t be.
My now angst was my angst then
As we walked the dust laden roads
In the sweet mist
Amid the clamor of feigned truths
And how we walked
We walked to be.
Farms of gold and green
Mourning the mirth, the fire
The silver of days
Eyes never shone so brittle
Never was sadness that didn’t be
Never farther
Closer than be.
And you held it all together
Like it meant to be.
—
Anant Dhavale
