I woke up to a sky of grey a hiding sun, a rainy day clouds of hail - stormy what nots rotund, dang and heavy drops
I said to them, be my poem.
Then the clouds of storm cleared the golden orb appeared a rainbow spilled color on the grass the blossoms sang sweetly - unasked
I said to them, be my poem
To the poor man on the street and the rag picker with bare feet the cobbler and the fruit seller the palmist and the fortune teller
I said to them, be my poem
To a new born and then flesh on a pyre the wind that whisks ashes of fire to the fragrance of spring and the frost of cold the stench of garbage and the scent of rose
I said to them, be my poem
I turned to love, anger and defeat laughed with humour and cried with grief traced the many fleeting expressions on a face fluid movements and those without grace
I said to them, stay and be my poem
Then I paused, I looked within -inside into my heart and in my mind so I could meet myself and know see and hear, feel and grow