My soul is like a button-
shining but peppered with holes.
Though fragile, at times stubborn
till it fades and takes a toll.
I spin a yarn to appease
with spicy colourful threads.
New flavours erase the crease,
and iron out the loose shreds.
And as the lore weaves and pours-
the soul gets a fresh decor.
The rush begins in the mind.
And the hours seem like minutes.
Not a second to unwind-
the clock unkind, and mistreats.
Unaware you chug along
to reach somewhere but nowhere.
In this struggle to belong
you try to be everywhere.
But the living will not care
when you fade into thin air.
The fluffy black fur dazzles.
He watches with half closed eyes
-Someone has come to hassle.
This human race so unwise-
In lazy nonchalant way
the bushy broom-tail he wags.
With a yawn the bear-face sways.
Lo! Arise! The master swags.
He is done with human-time.
Waits for his partner in crime.
My mind churns up old pictures.
The heart beats to memories.
The pain finds joyful mixture-
I breathe slow, deep, and with ease.
How lovely were childhood tears-
blend of mischief and silence.
The exaggerated fears.
And the shy-full secret yearns.
I still can scent their fragrance.
My tongue waits to rewind once.
Slowly I descended into the well-
with water long gone it seemed parched and dry.
Here in the years bygone warm springs had dwelled
quenching the thirst keeping the spirits high.
Steps of stone led deeper into the past,
and tingled my soul with fanciful tales.
How unaware of an abyss so vast
yet a wonderful mix of joy and wails.
But for the bees and ghost eyes of the peers-
my thoughts echoed in the silence profound.
I wished this well had elongated ears
for coins of prayers were scattered around.
The noise above fading, the depth nearer-
I heard the voices in my head clearer.
The sketch portrays what I see,
and not what she truly is.
All colourful yet fuzzy
for unpaintable her fizz.
So I let my brush tinker
to give some shape to my thoughts.
For false paint should not linger,
and depict what she is not.
I dribble, scribble and fuss,
and yet less speaks the canvas.
Chaos reigns at the entrance-
of cars, buses, bikes and us.
The place was our pathway once
now jostles without purpose.
Here one competes for wisdom
for a culture bright, graphic.
Unaware running random
amidst unruly traffic.
Hope the knowledge educates
that learning is at the gate.
