He grabbed a brush and painted the sky.
He painted it broad, He painted it wide.
From a stroke of white He created the clouds,
Then splashed in birds to fill it with sound.
With precision and class He painted the grass,
Covered in dew to make it last.
Happy with that, He moved on to the trees;
The trunks so tall with their branches of leaves.
He poured on oceans, rivers, and streams,
And took extra effort on the sun, it seems.
That fiery ball that makes the day so bright,
And the pearly moon to light the sky at night.
But then with an unfortunate turn of luck,
He spilled on a sickening poisonous muck.
It manifested across the land,
the error of God-
The creation of man.

i like artists
artists of all kinds
artists of words
artists of colour
artists of thoughts
they're the civilisation
they're the world
they're the visionaries
the children
the lovers
the hearts of gold
an artist is the one with the voice
the radiance of the sun
the summer in your eyes
the lover in disguise
the hurt in the dark
the tears and the smiles
an artist hides deep down
the one who lives in pain and shame
they say artists will never survive
i say artists are the reason we're still alive

My home is full of strangers
We may stay together
but nothing more
We are worlds apart
No place in heart
And it is hard
To stay this aloof
Under the same roof

This coquettish smile,
I splay every time,
Knowingly,
Unknowingly,
Is cold fire
Born out of
Rubbing thoughts.
Frozen I am,
Was, will be.