Thursday, January 5, 2012

The ink of my poems have dried up,
they look up with blank eyes.

The nature doesn't smile with my verses,
the sun doesn't shine,
they don't touch the strings of breath anymore,
they don't heal wounded hearts,
like dry leaves, they are crushed,
everyday under a stranger's feat,
they cry.

poems, O my poems,
how I wish I could fill you with colours,
and see you fly,
see you wipe out tears and like a rainbow
lighten up the grey sky.

The ink of my poems have dried up,
they look up with blank eyes.

1 comment:

Raajii said...

oh so beautiful.