Sowmya Hiremat

It had rained on the graves,
As if to awaken the dead 
From deep slumber of abyss.
I don’t think they sense it
Not till the water seeps in
close. Maybe then they feel
A stirring amidst the white fog
Like dreams when we wake.. 
Maybe then they try, hard
To reach, out of regret & loss
Maybe that is why and when
Flowers grow on graves.
Dreams of the dead, sprouting
From below, in bright colors 
A sign post of love .. for life.