Passion

The serenading stream leaps in swirling rapture on the dancing shadows of the swaying trees. The diamond dew drops draping the glinted grass put lilting latticed diadem on the malachite meadow. The drizzling moon dust from the sequined sky embellishes the pearlescent waves of the rolling sea. In all these I look enthused for my muse. Up above the majestic mountain’s sliding slopes waits the sun-soaked summit of ecstasy to be scaled. Down the verdant valley’s slithering spine cascades sapphire stream to the picturesque plains. The rain-washed sky spreads the tapestry of dreams of chromatic imagery on the rainbow-arched horizon. In all these I seek out fervently for my muse. The scarlet sun rises with the grandeur of crystal dawn, lifts the musk of miasma from the depth of despair. The wind of imagination blows in mystique mindscape, raises from dust the flecks of dormant feelings, wafting in the surging storm of inventive impulse, on its wings I fly inspired in the fantasy firmament. That’s when my passion makes me a poet.