026. My Creative Endeavours Poem by Praveen Kumar Title Golden Wonder

I wrote and wrote thousands of lines
Touching the nuances of our bond,
I created for years stunning arts
Of passions we bear for each other,
But nothing touch’d the real heights;
Whatever I wrote touched elements,
But never the height and depth of the real;
Whatever I created has shapes and forms,
But no colours and scales of the real world.

Words are but feeble reflectors
And fail to catch the real depth,
Colours crack in catching scales
And passions leak thro’ colours’ pores
And leave all arts high and dry;
No words to heartbeats rhymed ever,
No colours to fancies matched ever,
And no lines I wrote, and arts, spawned
Recreated our bond, nor satisfied me.

Be it lines of words or shades of colours,
I bred in huge packs for years on end,
Mere patches they are sans congruities;
No unity they bring nor touch the chord
To recreate the orchestra my soul aspires;
Sculptures stand-alone truly they are,
But adding up all becomes never whole;
They do touch aspects, but without vision
And fail to inspire contentment I need.

Yet I write and cause profluence of arts,
For, in parts I get is better than naught;
I try to dig deep, draw the water all there,
Though know the limits of the vessels I have
And quench my thirsts from whatever I draw;
The poems I write and the arts I create,
Poor shadows of true heights and its depth,
Of diverse hues and splendid shades
Of the bond we share in Himalayan scale.