Here I’m collecting wreckages of an unsought battle.
Half covered in the sands of time.
I shudder back at a wreck which reflects my implicit fear.
My reflective squirm is too low to be heard.
Or is it the wind that is howling fast?
Autumn wind continues to blow,
Filling me with essence, and drying away my tears.
..
I mustn’t deter nor should I stop,
For the wrecks are strewn far and wide:
So is the desert.
P.S: We cannot understand certain things for the only reason, they being simple.
twilifae 
Lovely…felt liked u picked up Joy’s personality wen i read it ;) :)
:) may be sar:)
and then we sometimes find that the pieces of wreck can be put together, to make peace with ourselves… :]
captivating, sailed my thoughts through too… :)
Yes bey, speaking exactly the last few lines of the poem
‘residing monk’, ‘……..wreckages of unsought battle’, ‘…….wreck which reflects my implicit fear’ and ‘autumn wind’.. waw :) my fav one in your blog.. And its the wind thats howling fast :) :)
really was scared of this going across, glad you liked it :)
awesome man!!
thanks vij:)