My temple of contemplation, my heart

By the dark crumpled leaves – walking away from an earlier reign,
Where the pool is hidden by the mist, a lady swims out seeking the sun,
Where the shrubs swallows the hill, a crane flies out and around.
On old flagstone, the steles are covered with dried grass,
Even the Heart of mine is spent and melted away,
This realm of dust still wants more of our grief.  


An avid blogger, twitterer and photojournalist, Zashnain Zainal suffers from an incurable addiction to social work, helping marginalised communities since 1989. Nowadays he travels from the plantations of Malaysia to the slums of Thailand. He can be found at and @bedlamfury

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