A castle of sand takes over the heaven.
His eyes roam all over, below,
The electric bulbs, white and yellow,
Slowly switching one by one,
on every lane.
The city, stretching tall, yawns,
Eyes closed, and leans with her back
Against glass windows.
The waves, tired, seem to stray
on their way to eyes and ears.
Every ripple that he casts unfurls
Granules of the deepest tone of beige,
In which the mistral ballets on her toes,
With every swirl, the aura slants a
New facet, a contrast.
All the hues were his to claim,
But were they any good, without
The brush.
While streets have now dampened
Their ever rushing flow,
So now boxes hide the pulsing,
Weak and slow.
The desert adorned with lavenders
Their aroma wafts in layers across
His kingdom, deepening with every beat
Of which he keeps biding a couple more.
Growing a touch desperate, he dabs
A dash of tangerine, fiery and lucent,
That lays on his empire's base,
While she now does a Capoeira.
The dynamic swings ablaze
A further incandescent vermilion.
Yet the dim wired knobs grow like a chain,
And hold all their ken in a grip.
Even though his fort fluorescent,
That perpetual rhyme edges closer,
The charcoal, heavy and sure,
Looming on his fort's penthouse,
While the leisure descent of his dynasty
Begins.
As all the tubes and gas lanterns have
Now made their spots glaze on walls,
The brightest of all lamps,
The oldest of all artisans,
Burns out, in a glimpse.
And his momentary mansion,
Only an intimation of his flair
And the sprightly empress's artistry,
Crumbles awaiting an applause.
A/N :- So this one was a bit long. If you made it till the end, thank you so much for reading.
I found a lot of love and support here, and especially a free reign of expression. So thank you to each one of you that read my juvenile piece of work. I hope it sought some connection to you.
To all readers, dreamers and poets,
I would like to add a few lines of one of my favourite poet :
" That you are here- that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."
- Walt Whitman ( O Me ! O Life !).
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
