The sea is full of ink blue, black and red,
And the sky is full of stories, the birds begin to tell.
Sit down under the oak tree in placidity,
And dip your sword in the frothing sea.
Write to me.
Write stories the ants tell you,
They heard from the lazing crickets on the banks of rivers.
Write stories the eagles tell you,
Of the lands, they stooped above.
The earth is rich and brown,
The leaves are lush and green.
Climb up the branches of the birch tree,
And look at the foreign lands from above.
Write to me.
Tell me how you saw a ship set sail,
After a stormy night.
Tell me about the strange colour of the maiden’s eyes,
That shone in the yellow sunlight.
The blossoms red, pink and white,
Wind’s gait slow and slight.
Listen to the sweet song of a swallow’s flight,
Of complaints, she makes to the late spring.
Write to me.
Of changing weather spring, summer and winter.
Tell me of the monsoon that left you drenched in loneliness.
Of the people that treated you with kindness.
Tell me of the placidity you felt leaving behind the world full of pain.
Don’t bother sending these poems to me by pigeon or post…
The world is full of paper, it will reach me.
All I want you to do is write,
Just write to me.
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YOU ARE READING
Rose Garden Filled With Thorns
PoetryInsecure in the most secured places. No control over the dynasty of faces. So just buckle up or tie your laces. Words coming your way, be ready to brace it. (Will update as I write)
