Words Are My Colours
After a twelve hours long bath
The glitter sun ascends from
the sea
And demolishes the realm of
grey in
The sky.
I give my eyes to east where
The rising sun begin to bring
golden
Offerings to the pale land.
I then give ears to the
melodies in the
Thanksgiving Choruses of the
birds.
If the earth continue to turn,
Tomorrow I will delightfully
gaze
Eastward again because
there's no other
Effective ritual to resurrect my
muse
And waken my pen.
Poet is the man that rap
words around
His fingers- I'm not poet- I'm
a painter.
I can paint a blue sun in a
golden sky.
My pen is a brush- words are
my colors.
Give ears to my lips and I will
paint
Smiles upon the canvas of
your cheeks.
Give to my words and I will
paint
My feelings upon the canvas of
your
Heart
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