dancer of the clouds,
ink of dream,
as if the sky, hushed
and utterly forlorn,
turned a pirouette.

wind of summer
too vagabond
drunk
touching the melancholy afternoon
of the last pale season

flowing over the
deep yellow barren field
echoing the last mystic sound
though yet romantic
spring
the purples are deep
divine

butterflies are flying around
a few birds playing
on the ground
suddenly singing
uttering love

yellow
the golden yellow floating
in the eyes  
over hued
saturated

dropping on the ignored
dry
wither leaves
as the rain drops that has made
a blue
day dream

crossing over the mind  
a jingle
leap singing
classic
the very lost spring
scrolling into
soul

even in the lonely dark night
rolling up
the sound
as the rolling stone
of the sounding sea

@Musfiq us shaleheen

The season has turned again
but
Are you warm at all
Do your intentions shiver
Could you run to far lands
and
Find your convictions
so
Comfortably swathed
Can you find enough fuel
to
Sustain the fire
of
Past afflictions