Sun rose with a lazy kiss
Birds flew with a hopeful bliss.
Blessed are those grass petals
Which ensnared the icy crystals
And glorified the crimson dreams.
Eloped are those marching stars
Which glittered the dark blanket
To fulfil the abandoned wishes.
Entombed was the crescent light
But garlanded is the hero of morning,
Which sent his rays as an alarm bell.
I was a silent bird,
Slept above a soft meadow,
Fighting as a queen of Sparta
Screaming as a lioness
And admired as a beauty queen.
But the clock gave me a wake up call,
I found a hopeful ball
And bloomed with a smile,
I heard the call for mile,
And without mourning,
I woke up in this morning;
To thank my Lord,
Who saved me at the board;
From the frightening evil spies,
And the dreadful lies...
I thank him for the new dish,
It will be a mixture of smile and tear.
But he blessed me with the soft
Dreams which gift me the shaft
To move ahead without fear.
And I woke up with a morning bell,
To thank;
The hands which wiped my tear
And to hug the palm which carried my fear.
I thank my saviour,
With a hot flame of soul,
For his gift of blood and flesh.
I closed my lips and oiled my legs
With the gift of life with cheer.
I opened my eyes to see new births
And closed my ears to hear new sounds.
I found new dewdrops
Rising above my new crops.
And I heard new chirping birds
Wandering above for a piece of bread.
I found new farewell songs,
Which emulsified my air as a hopeful lyre.
And the dazzling spirit,
Of singing merit,
Of my lovely birdie,
Was heard with the voice of gurdy.
I found new feathers dropped around
My piece of joy;
Which I locked under golden bars.
And I stepped into the green meadow,
Where my foot found coldness
To massage with the slippers of boldness.
I was welcomed by mighty petals
And lovely bunch of friends.
I noticed;
The new bloom of yellow,
Which brought me mellow
And gifted me smile and hope,
And I found new strand of pop.
The winter night made me cold,
But my mother made me bold,
By giving me her ginger tea.
And the spicy kitchen
Fed me with pinch of memories.
After my small battle with groceries,
My father gave me the key,
To unlock my lazy heart;
And I took my dart,
With a fresh scent
Of hope and I bent
My hand to hold my pen
And to clean my den,
Of thoughts with my quill.
And my belly who waited for the fill
Made my journey to the kitchen
And my mother gave me a dish with chicken,
To be relished with my thoughts.
But my clock floats
With its alarm bells
Which remind me the knells:
The knells of responsibilities...
I cleansed the utilities,
And brought stationaries,
And chopped groceries.
But my laziness kissed
My heart and I missed
My bed who ask me to dream,
So I found my lazy scream,
Of thoughts to be fed with ink,
And my paper wink,
At me with its icy hand,
And my ink went through the land,
And found princess in the prison,
Who wait to be risen,
Who wish to fly like a bird,
And my princess always winked with absurd
Thoughts of saviour from Arabia
Who rescue her from the mania.
My princess was isolated with
The web sew by spider
And hub destroyed by cockroach.
And the fantasy fed her
While the thoughts gifted her dare,
To move on
And I took the loan
Of my pen which painted the image
Of their story of cage.
And my princess found
The zigzag lines drawn by ants
And that inspiration took her to an alien land.
And the land was filled with rustic books
But the words were filled with crust of life.
Then the time reminded me,
To pay the fee,
Of electricity and utensils.
And the busy day,
Made me a lonely hay.
And the air scented like a moving tar
With hot waves of nausea.
But I found my pencils,
Which ignited my soul,
And I put it’s new boal,
To be served in my paper.
And as a wrapper,
It ensnared me,
And asked me to be
A writer by heart,
And asked me to throw emotions like a dart.
And my green meadow,
Called me to blow,
And I sat there
To find new air.
And it brought me fresh,
Thoughts and I served my dish
Of lovely joke
By stitching my lovely cloak.
The cloak was stitched with emotions
And designed with flying petals.
And those petals merely yearned for nectar
And my little flowers nodded their head
And offered me a lovely lap
Scented with a philosophical hour of bliss.
And my imagination
Transformed me as the creator of nation,
Where I stood like a king
With the powerful ring
Which made magical castle
And the fort protected with Bastille..
But the thoughts were overflown,
Like a stream of memories.
And the evening shade gifted by
The lovely younger mango plant
Filled my stomach with sauced beads.
And the lovely spices adorned my yellow beauty
And my mom spilled love over it
To be shared with my brother.
But the plate took its voyage
To a battlefield where,
I took a sword
And my king took the pistol.
But the cleverness of my mom,
Took a twig to silence us.
But the clock ticked faster
To hear our lovely jokes.
And my naughty clock found
The sword sleeping with the pistol.
That made my granny to cook new dishes
To fill our tummies with boiled snacks.
And she served to narrate her old days
Where she was a warrior
And her elder brother was a naughty child.
She grinned at our innocence
When she saw our war and peace,
And she sung many lullabies to make us calm.
The darkness of sky,
Alarmed me not to fly
And exhorted me to rest,
But my mind fought against rust,
And made me a busy bird
Asked me to stop being weird.
Thus I felt in love with words,
So I made firebirds,
And paid them with my thoughts
And my soul float as boats,
And my paper touched
my finger tips and clutched
Emotions flew like snowballs.
And I got the calls,
From the night muse,
Who visited me with booze,
To make me sleep,
And make me a sheep,
Who dance in the green,
And gaze at the fern:
To relish the water,
To bleed my auteur.
To bless me with a dream,
To make my auteur scream,
With new ideas
And to find the diarrhoea
Of ideas flowing in the paper,
I kissed my soft cotton balls
But my lovely clock taper
Found me before my father’s gift,
Which exhorted me to jot my daily chores
In my event book.
With the darkness at the end,
I gleamed at the sky
And my window pane was cold as a baby
And reflected my soul.
And the soul began to question me
And I began to entertain it
With my foolish dreams,
But my soul insisted me to fly
And my spirit fuel my dreams too.
My pages can’t be blank,
As it come from a thought bank
And the wish to sleep under the blanket
Of ideas which rain new jacket
Fill my heart with fuel
To begin my journey as a bard
And my dream transformed me
As an orderly to my mind too.
Thus my ink is equipped
To ignite my rage
And pacify my outrage.
As an attorney
Of ideas and emotions
Stamped my name board
And my creators smiled with pride
And hugged me with blood.
Too strike the clock again as a circle,
And not to burkle...
I woke up in the morning,
And stood like a Browning
And took my pen
To warm my Zen
Who asked me to pray,
And I repay:
My gratitude to My Lord,
With folding hands and God,
Blessed me with his smiling face,
And I begun my new journey
As the pages of my diary taught me.
And I winked at my self
With a promise,
I took from my locus;
My eyes never blinked in hesitation,
My tongue never chocked in suffocation,
My pen jotted the song of pain,
The ink muted the tale of pleasure,
While the hands of my clock fly above,
Like a hot balloon,
Without any pause or doubt.
