Pigment I myself on a calico canvas, in paled hues Gray clouds sedate me and chafes me the rainbows. Gates of spring in me, parades the nameplate of fall; Immure I my self, backside of the absolving wall. Uninventive and juice-less I lie, along the river soil, Athirst I remain, neath the slaking rainfall’s toil. In bunches I pass, yet trammeled to me, is my talk; Seas of silence I hoard, a driblet of serenity I lack. Illume I, a taper of hope, ahead my closed sight; Yet euphorically cleaves, the dourest despair, tight.
Transforms a caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly- While within the cocoon, the winged dreams cry; Despairing to freely pilot, towering the cryptic sky. Deepens an exiting autumn as a welcoming spring- While snuggling the earth, the leaves mildly swing; Knolling the hoary gongs of hope, they mirthfully sing. Egresses a befogged man, as a absolved human- While the empyrean prowess of real compassion; Satiates the sleeveless vacuities of all his passion.
Summers thrummed sunny song; Burning down, staggeringly long. Sopped up are its oodles of rays; Still surfaces, the warmth’s chase. Monsoons gestated, over again; Birthing puffy clouds…….. in vain. Wells high, rained and drenched; Thirst’s quest, still unquenched.
Lily-white snow is bussing the branches so black; Swaying in desire to beget the blushed glory back. Colorings, slithering into the blueprints of paleness. Will these hushed up hues ever whistle in brightness? Aware are the dried twigs of their deadness inside: Yet, fancying for the sprightliest springtime besides. Disgraced not they, of their nakedness in the day: But jubilating at the greenish gown, earning their way.