Tired afternoon open door

The gap between the four walls :

I remember a song when ever I saw this photo.

Yet in the body of this wall
People who have washed away the torn color
Professional revenge is your consciousness
As much as the exposed light color
Suddenly blue like the sky
Any of your favorite faces drowning in blue
Why break the path when it comes close to his eyes

Draw two maps, between two countries
There is a dissection of feelings

Yet there is a strong wind here
The window comes into the closed room
The walls grew over midnight
Fear in your shadow
The light recognizes my disobedient courage
Is there no cowardly darkness inside now alone?

The paths around you all move away
This lonely house of the night hangs on the barbed wire of zero
Draw two maps, between two countries
There is a dissection of feelings

Yet these two barbed wire, like a city
The crowd is full of sleep
Unconscious when barren, coming to the ground
Time who thinks the epitaph sits on his knees

Yet here the wind comes in the excitement of distance
Autumn is frozen in the cold grass
The only distant path between your eyes
It doesn't break here in two countries

The distance of the clouds broke in the deep darkness of the chest
The expulsion of light is like a memory
Precisely in the blind solitude of the dream-bound memory
Time stands still in the face of future wars

Sarani's name is not written here, no martyr's memorial
Only the dream house is reserved for you
The subconscious of emptiness does not hang in the window
Unseen in the blind light of your house
The lonely Aniket desert here

Yet your broken memories, torn dreams, twisted playground
Torn sky, broken glass
Light and darkness are yours

How much is written on your wall
Wall to wall with people
Grew thorns
Here's a look at this great map

Memories filled in your void
Name written on inert stone - Shaheed Smarani
The distant sky floated out the window
I am stuck in the thorns of time
You are like a torn sky

Rolling the lump of your dreams
Stale poems, lost songs
Empty sky outside your window
Yet Aniket is in this wilderness

There is still plenty of autumn air here
This dark house of yours is full of the scent of green
The wall is now just a dead line of death

Memories shake you hard, broken dreams
How intoxicating as sleep
How many children, how many torches of light have gone out
How many unknown fears are gone
You seem like an immature memory now
In the air outside your window
Far away dream house, hanging in solitude
Is death Aniket Prantra?.