Foot on a stormy road, path unsure
All she sees is bed of petals piled up
like a stack of bricks, lined up
thrones she foresees yet in memory of her serenity, she heads.
A soul of a sword,
fully aware of its chore
Standing in between the warriors
Fails and rises again,
Blades still being the same,
sharp enough to war against..
Years of her memoir, safely kept
double keyed the door,
A promise to not look back, neither beyond.
She continues, with memorandum
Her tomorrow follows.
“He’s the black that goes with every color”
Said his mom who didn’t seem pleased.
All the reds within her has boiled,
as if she’s engulfed
the ball of fire.
Bold and keen enough to foresee.
As every corner has darkened, supposedly inked.
Disguises and camouflages, obscuring the blues
All that shows up are the frail and withered truths.
While all the carbon coated breathes get in
Thirsty soul longs for the greens and the pinks.
“I dreamt him swimming
in a pool of watercolors”
Said his mom looking at the sky, white and blue.
gratified in her yellow sari, holding the moon.
plucking all the browns within the greens she witnesses,
she laments over her child, eating up all the roots.
Faded world, drowning in emotional hues
Roaring in vain, she emerges,
Desperately, in an attempt to tint,
As every corner has darkened , supposedly inked.
