Take the stars
Put ‘em in your pocket
Take the sun
Make a locket
Wear it.
Near it
Would be burns
And heat,
No cheat
Could be done.
The price,
To hold the precious,
Success,
Recess?
From passion?
No fashion,
Could be established,
If it weren’t wished,
If it weren’t loved enough,
If the times weren’t tough.
Win isn’t a cherry,
Perfectly ripe,
It’s all a hype.
It’s a feel
Difficult to express,
Yet picking the words,
Just right enough,
To give a hint,
With the least tint,
Just as it were
The feel alone.
Not so easy it is,
Not so impossible I think,
Just that it can’t be had,
With the ease of a blink.
It’s an earning,
Which becomes an ornament,
Of the passion,
The passion to express,
To wrap the feel,
In the words’ dress.
Rare ones could undress
The feel and feel it,
And absorb,
The gladness,
The sadness,
The awe,
The wonder,
The thunder,
That I hid in the word.
Calm down,
Don’t rush,
Meditate on the feel,
Not on the word,
Either the word
Would appear,
Or you’d invent
Your own so dear.
Challenges many
Win but one.
If you dare to face,
The hurts in case,
Take the stars,
Put ’em in your pocket,
Take the sun,
Make a locket,
Wear it.
If you want to hold the precious, you'll have to pay a price. A price of passion.
