You
Is the
Short form of
You.nique.

Worries
When you set them free
It sets you free
Happier

In a cage
The bird knows its resting spot
Free, it has many
On the tree

There is no better place
To allay your fears
Other than your own head
At rest

The world is indeed topsy turvy.
Stones worshipped
with bouquets
and brickbats
thrown at people.

Ode to time!
Her royal cunning...
Planting seeds of her abundance in our hearts.
With her cooing whispers as that of an infant.
Sweetly engaging us in a lazy conversation
persuading us to delve into the path of procastination.
She mocks at our simplicity.
While she mounts her chariot and rides away.

Ode to time!
Her royal sauciness.
Her disregard cuts through boundaries.
From Lords to the lowly.
With no strain of consideration, she rides.
Not perturbed about
the slim chances
which last between waste and conservation.
Hissing at our ignorance
exploiting our regrets.

Ode to time!
Her royal disease.
And shall we not all be plagued?
This mortal body,
we all shall submit
young and old alike
shall drink of the same cup.
The elderly and youthful shall dance
to the
sovereign bidding of time.

An artist I am
My fingers? My paint brush
My words? My pictures.
My emotions? My colours.
My mind? My easel.
The world? My canvas.
I paint the world
In colours I deem fit.
I paint the world in colours that scream 'ME!'