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