Flipping through a bundle
of identical sheets
I realise there is no difference between us

I, like the sheets
Hover the earth with no specific goal
Waiting for someone to scribble
an endorsement

But no-one comes
Because I am the paper and the ink
My experiences are my art
freely given materials

With which to bless,  beautify and build

All my life
As a little growing lass
He tended, watched me,
Scolded and praised

He toiled,
Thought,
Fought
And succeeded
To rear me
Like the cub
Of a lion,
Brave,
Fearless
And expectant

Like the little
Dove; pure
Gentle
And blameless

Like the cat:
Playful,
Curious
And inquisitive.
He is my father,
And I was groomed
In his shadow

Birds dyed in neon colours tweet
Enchanting tunes
As if they attempt to invoke
Morning's presence.

In the near-night morning

When the sun

Battling timidity

Avoided approaching the skies.

When birds laid slain with sleep

When the day

Had of late, been begotten

And laid suckling in the rocking ***** of time.

Upon an insomnia-provoked thought I pondered.



Wondering what the age of the sun might be.

Delved into some critical reasoning here.

Danced to the beats of deep philosophizing there.

Borrowing Plato's cloak....





The sun

Impregnated with heat

She sprays the earth with good shining.

Negotiating with darkness

She innovates light.

She constantly radiates a golden smile.

NO WRINKLES IN HER EYES, LIE!



Alas! Alas!

My thoughts procreated futility.

We may never know the age of the sun.

Saiĺing in life's boat
Tides rising high, shall you ride
Or dive in water?

Night flees in darkness,
     day sleeps. Now knocks on my door
             shall I say "come in?"

She turns her compass

at her wish



Joyful or sad

pleased or mad



She inches  or flees

regardless.