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| Image credit: Google images |
When the popper sings and begs
When the monger calls
and sells
When the bombs blast
to kill
When the flowers bloom
to heal
When with differences
countries fight
On horizon-stages that
unite
In the presence or
absence
Of the sun and the
moon
As a curse or as a
boon
With my folly and my
sense
In dullness or delight
I write.
In everything I feel,
see or hear
I find my poems hidden
or clear
My words beyond
successes failures
They come from the
mind gushing through the nerves
Seldom would they be in
the wrong or in the right
They’d just write.
I have volumes of
leaves
In those branches of
trees
They don’t have names
are hanging to fall
Come back they’d again
and rise without a call
Observant with acceptance,
always feather light
They’d simply write.
Yet there’s one hope
in the words!
That drizzles on the
page!
That peace rains in my
world!
Released, from the cloudy
cage
Sometimes words rhyme,
sometimes they don’t
At times they’re read
at times left alone
Like the flower in a
corner noticed or unheard
I rewrite like I breathe
in my wonderful world.
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