Shadow on the dark path, dense, The village was deserted, silence. Broken doors, walls old, It is said that the story lives here. When the moonlight molds at night, The shadows run from the walls. Sometimes laughter, sometimes crying, Somebody calls, but no one can see. feet used to ring on footpath, There was no one, yet there was emotion. The branches of dried trees moved, Like a breath counted. Sob used to come from the old well, Somebody's knock used to fly with air. Whoever came, does not return again, It is said that someone wanders here.
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About Vikki sharma
Shadow on the dark path, dense, The village was deserted, silence. Broken doors, walls old, It is said that the story lives here. When the moonlight molds at night, The shadows run from the walls. Sometimes laughter, sometimes crying, Somebody calls, but no one can see. feet used to ring on footpath, There was no one, yet there was emotion. Th...Read more