Meetings of the two, floating clouds filled with beautiful hues,
An inexpressible fear of bursting
What if someone said those three little words before I drew,
To the perennial world painted as skies in her favourite blues?
What if the winter's silence was broken by gusty winds that blew?
The sky was not bound to answer,
Until he knew someone would accept the grays after ages too.
A bunch of sunflowers weathering in a bouquet,
Dry leaves and petals recalling the admiration which held them together hoping to sail, through the windy bay.
Ribboned wreaths are now in market;
Whenever I get a glimpse, I think about my day-dreaming silver rings.
It is still the same, even in days of Autumn's, as my spring's rays were kept in my heart's bottom.
Though at times, I try to look afar to find if you are standing there for being the colour I love.
All I see is always this I,
Adoring reminiscence, clear of sight.
Keeping rhythms of heartbeats and words, as finches are flying around in Earth.
While pitter-pattering is sounding like an old friend asking,
" How do you sail just for a pair of eyes, even without receiving a clue to write my tale in lines? ".
I smile, I rise to answer,
I gaze at the sky,
Unaware if they would read my chapter,
Uncared like snows in winters, Uncaged like the stars dancing in the moonlight.
Pastel colours in skies,
Butterflies rejoicing for the thread we tied.
"Long ago there were two little fawns, " they said.
They were brought up by the woods where they were born.
As they grew, the valleys and coasts sang like choirs in winds of dawn.
The sun always brightened their paths
Rays of golden lights were kept,
The moon became the cradle of faith,
Stars sang lullabies as eyes of their children slept.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem