Paradoxes are insurmountable,
Hefty thieves rob the jewels,
Blinded by the ignorance.
The moon shines with a touch,
Of the charming musk lighted
By the fires in the greens and
Browns with the pale leaves.
The old rattles are made up,
Using the broken clay pieces
Which once adored my back wall
And clung onto it like coated nails.
Drip-drops are made by the streaks
With the vast colours in a queue ,
Facing the torments from the crows.
A fiery afternoon sets in a cool setting
And the glares have forcefully blinded me,
Drying up the rich worlds apart.
An old pipe is clogged with a spitted phrase
Blocking our views of the bonafide thoughts
But startling us to complete the puzzle.
The seats are full in the red-chaired theatre,
Enjoying the views of the painted cushions
And the cooked up company of friends…..