Barren and cold,
arid and old,
insidious winds,
screaming stories untold;

Buried in the sands,
of these ashen lands,
decaying carcasses,
of castles unmanned;

Where shells lay tossed,
of ones that are lost,
rising tides,
drown all they have crossed;

And oceans deep,
slowly creep,
where castles once stood,
and children now weep;

A wasteland of lies,
just under the skies,
or,
just a beach;

Within our eyes.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar