The Colours.....

….. And there it ends. Then… all set… old Parker
in hand,
I sat down to write a romantic poem……
Writing from a far-off land, my friend,
Reorganize the old hand? The melting words!
Does it still rain at your place?
And the wind gently caresses the hair. Does it?
And the earthly smell, sensuality….?
I see the pedestal broken… and the dreams
scattered. “Distance never increases between a
couple of trees.”
With time, their roots meet, underneath.”
And I still stand erect, my friend, stand strong,
My mirror hasn’t betrayed me yet.
The collage of broken dreams, the creator,
And a hypocrisy called love. Mercy… romantics.
….. And there it ends. Then… all set… old Parker
in hand, I sat down to write a romantic poem…
I dig up the old wounds…..to let the fresh blood flow.
The purifier. Flowing river drowns the melting words,
I take up my brush… to fill the canvas with colours
again,
You are not welcome the shades of grey. The shadows
Of my dreams. Paint me red. The crimson- crave.
It’s long since I saw the blue hills, the crystal rivers,
The winding roads carpeted by fallen leaves. They all
Call me again. My old friends. My love.
Colours of the world…. Come down to me again.
Let me live….. a butterfly…. five days of eternity.
Under the deep blue skies I stand. Alive again.
Raindrops pour in…. the sound echoes in my world.
The end of ennui. The times of love.
I feel the caressing hand…. as I paint my world.
….. And there it ends. Then… all set… old Parker in
hand, I sat down to write a romantic poem...