When peace falls
like drops, it drips
from a tap and
stops. There is
no water. No
water to be had.

How can we look,
look for peace in
this land?

Peace falls like
leaves from
autumnal trees,
faded and jaded
waiting to be reborn,
evanescent like spring.

Transient like life,
peace waits
in the sidelines for
the battle to end
with the last

Death comes from
the last gunshot.
But peace…does
peace come with
death? Paradise
post-life? Have you
been there and
ever returned?
Do you remember
the last life, death,
or after death?
Peace still holds
in this life…

Peace is the quietness
of the lake, the sunsets
that sink into the nights,
the chirping of birds
flitting amidst the green.

Peace is the clouds
that drift in the sky,
over borders
effortlessly glide.

Peace is a blanket each winter,
restful, calm, a shelter.

Mitali Chakravarty writes for love, peace and harmony and in that spirit runs the Borderless Journal. Read other articles by Mitali.