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SONG OF MY SOUL

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It was morning all shine and rain, 

And birds whirls in the morning breeze. 

Half awake, feeling the Patter of rain, 

With which nature tied me tightly. 


That I was born on the basis of humiliation. 

Has sign of seal of death on face? likely. 

Over the sky, clouds are the white blanket,

A great deal of life, waiting for the crimson. 


And soft touch of fingertips to eyestrain, 

Feeling the smell of sumbal, and Psithurism. 

Crawling like a baby around my bed, 

What did i lost, morning blithe or truce of dotage. 


Cup of tea(nunchai) held along with butter, 

Across the window side wearing cloak worn. 

Reminisce with fixation on puddles, petrichor. 

Nevertheless, hoping to cease my painful odium. 










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Comments

Unknown said…
Impressive👍😍
10 August 2021 at 05:24
Bhat Wajid said…
💓 Heart touching
10 August 2021 at 06:11
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