Life is quite slow in its gait
No hues I see in the rainbow
Life is sans its aesthetic glow
No charm I behold in the heavenly realms
Nor grandeur in the gentle rippling streams
No meanings in the twists of the life’s tale
Nor serenity in the soft blowing gale
No blend of lyrical chords to sing
No flights of fantasy on its wing
No melody in the nightingale’s song
No making out what is right and wrong
No thoughts can I weave into verse
Huh, the burden of these muse less curse
My inner musings are dolefully down
My mood mutated from frolic to frown
Huh, is the poet within me dead?
Have we our goodbyes aptly said?
No comments:
Post a Comment