What should of this evening? Or what should I do at this melancholy time? I find all my songs disappearing into scattered flocks of birds. My words are colours spread across this sky, beautiful yet ephemeral. Sky, being eternal has no colour. What should I be? Sky of colours or colours of sky?
What should I make of you? Do you form my words or do my words carve you? You both are so same and I can have only one. You do not recognise yourself in those words and words cannot live in your shade. Whom should I seek? Or should I submerge myself in this evening, ageing speedily into night, mother of all completions?
Reason gives me no space to hold. Desire binds me to stay rooted. Poems blossom, then draught of stale analogies linger. Adventures into unknown end in redefinition of trivial. Losses and gains! Pleasures and pains!!
Night will come soon. Birds are holding this evening in their wings. Colours are converging to silence of dark. When these stars, distant and enlightened, ask me to count starts inside me, will i have moments to cherish? Will I tell them agonies and miseries?
Restless soul I am. I start where way often ends.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment