Ands and Sos keep company often. Like tears, breeze, sunrays and raindrops, your words touch me. Prick, Baffle, Move, Please. They keep piling in my brain like sand, in a corner, one among the many I have built out of Love.
Love. A word, a prick, a sound, a vaccum. Poetry, promises, foolery and so on.
Paint your life, smudge its corners, blur the curves, remove the lines, dampen the brush and keep throwing in the colours. Who has known, who has understood the purity behind most mistakes. They are what your Halo is made of, your very own delicate crown of thorns.
Arrive Monsoon at my doorstep to mark the end of struggle, to mark the beginning of enigmas that carry much Hope, and little of anything else. Leaves rustle in that very green most poets sing of and birds pretend to be in tune too.
Life is here. To be lived in words. To be built out of words. With silent prayers to carve out better days in Yellow and Peach.
Someday we shall be inspired.
1 comment:
A little bit of learning by book. .And more by life..good to see you grow in your writing. .
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