The Colourless Paths And A Colourful You Poem by Piyush Dey

Don't cry, my dear friend, don't
lament for the things done long ago,
I am here with you as just as a
little acquaintance, as just but for
a piece of time,
The remaining races are yours to teasure,
But, at least i am here with you, even
if it is for moment,
So let's just let this heart not go
mad and fearful
Of the things that have seeked novelty,
I am here, dearest, but just for a
moment or two, the remaining races
are yours to treasure,
Don't cry, my dear friend, don't lamemt
for the things done long ago,
These summers that we are spending
together is but only a season, it will
pass away as the storms did last night,
as the rattling ofthe windows had
this morning and the crispness of the
air had this noon,
These paths, thses grasses, this
unevenness, which covers our way to
the silent listening heaven and
towards the pending judgement
are but our friends as those
butterflies that seeked nectar from
your garden in the morning freshness,
as those rains that wrote silent
messages upon the silhotte of your
windows, as those joys when gods have
laughed at your dwelling, my dear-
I know the air is a little dense now
and you feel difficult to breathe,
I know the sins that hace committed have
down upon you door to seek their revenge
and you feel difficult to handle such pains,
But, remember, my dearest, somewhere
under this great colourless paths
lies your vanity, your dreams, your
passions, So-
Don't lament for the things done long ago.