White Its too late, whether you are giving all your efforts. Its too late, whether you are counting your fingers. Its too late, whether you are trying your best. Its too late, whether I'm at the roads last. ©Bhagyashree Jena

Bhagyashree Jena

White What was it that escaped my sight? Sometimes veiled in moonlight, Sometimes hidden in the silence of past nights, Sometimes entwined in friends' tales, Sometimes inscribed in the pages of books, Sometimes obscured by the dust of the roads. It must have dwelled in my heart, Which is why my mind’s eyes could not discern it. If only I had seen it with the heart back then, But now, it seems, it is a moment too late. ©Sup_holster

Sup_holster

White Its too late, whether you are giving all your efforts. Its too late, whether you are counting your fingers. Its too late, whether you are trying your best. Its too late, whether I'm at the roads last. ©Bhagyashree Jena

Bhagyashree Jena

White What was it that escaped my sight? Sometimes veiled in moonlight, Sometimes hidden in the silence of past nights, Sometimes entwined in friends' tales, Sometimes inscribed in the pages of books, Sometimes obscured by the dust of the roads. It must have dwelled in my heart, Which is why my mind’s eyes could not discern it. If only I had seen it with the heart back then, But now, it seems, it is a moment too late. ©Sup_holster

Sup_holster