~~
The period that peaked
The blanket has become cold
Night has grown bigger,
Eclipsed the Sun,
Elusive moon
In the fog
Obsessed near by men
Dew drops,
As the deep feelings
On the roof
Of the Tin

Imagination draws
The images of Springtime
As if as a smile of mother's
As the bright day,
Peacock unrolls feather
Rain dancing on the horizon
Desire words of
The poetry
Drops as the raindrops
Sound of anklet breaks
The Silence
On the outskirts of the
Bird's chirp
The swing rhythm
In the first song of the morning
Poet arouses
In search of the New Poetry
~~

what of the poets
who tire of whine
as our village is crippled
with Bukowski and whine
being creative is playful
when there is pride
but it's dreadfully painful
if excitement has died
some legends have packed up
and its too late too rue
lets take pride in this village
we call planet blue