Winter of my muse

The colorless colors of my words,
Mocks,
At the listless verses that I spew,

Is there anything that I want to say ? 
Changing and rearranging
 
Rehashing! Same emotions….
 
They seem lost

Is it me?
Living behind the countless defenses,
Fences, that I created,
Choked, 
Lost the ability to really see?
 

The vivid colors that once danced
Waiting to be noticed
Seems to have faded, 
Like autumn leaves

Is it any wonder, that winter is here ?

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4 Comments

  1. reminds me of Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind towards the end. Elsewhere the vocabulary and the style reminds me of my guru! ANother good verse!

  2. @winnie

    I am (in)famous for my generosity in praise. :P. But when I praise, I do so with a certain bent of mind as well as from the heart.

    No praise is too high for the kind of verses you write, more importantly for what they embody. I was wondering if “nihilistic propensities” have taken over so much of that there is little of human bonding left in this wide wretched world. But good to see reflections of it alive and kicking… in your verses.

    And the joy of verses, like that of mercy – as Shakespeare writes – is that it “blesseth him (her) that gives and him (her) that takes!”

    cheers

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