A quiet page holds its whiteness
Open, permissive as deep space,
Twisted threads, roses and pearls
Casting their shadows on it.
The seer exhilarated gets involved
Believing its his turn to spin the wheel,
To craft a story, a captivating saga
About someone called 'I',
Identifying as a person.
Eager to add new chapters,
To adjust and refine boundaries,
Shapes, textures and a particular scent,
Immersed in the plot of this fiction,
He's trapped between the threads.
The wise knows that a page holds
Any content, any limerick
Without being permeated
By their evanescent landing upon it.
Release this image of the crafter,
Why is your struggle so intense?
A pair of scissors is cutting
Likewise a designer of clouds.
Topic(s) of this poem: life, philosophical , self image, story
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.