the world turned bold
on a surprising note;
the grey turned green
like a wishful dream,
the cup of morning tea
held on to its heat,
winter was now asleep,
there bloomed my spring!
on a surprising note;
the grey turned green
like a wishful dream,
the cup of morning tea
held on to its heat,
winter was now asleep,
there bloomed my spring!
the ink did not blot:
like witch’s blood it flowed
until it touched the edge
of my notebook’s page.
I tried to restrict it,
the notebook:
did I fold it.
alas!
motivated like a soldier it moved,
no sword dared to halt the pen’s truth!
where were we?
between winter and spring, yes,
when the world grew daunting:
the cuckoos grew tired of singing,
and the crows of cawing,
big vessels were sinking…
I have waited since then
to bleed some ink on my page,
to cure some rust on my sword,
to trap some love in my summer breath!
