This is a poem of incomplete stories. A poem about a conversation. A poem which allows to hope for a better tomorrow.
“Tell me a story!”
A tattered body, a battered mind,
Dusty feet and arms covered with grime,
A broken heart and some bleeding wounds,
Yes, this is a story of poorer times.
“What about the good times?”, she asked.
Keep patience, for it is yet to be told,
Stay here if you want to see it unfold.
Because I’ve fallen a victim to the wheels of time,
And surely summer will follow these days of cold.
“Tell me about colours…”
I can see yellow, black, white and brown,
But I see no red or green around,
but I wonder, what if all was just a serene blue?
I could be colour blind without any bounds.
“Tell me about love…”
I looked for you in old lifeless pics,
A hint of love or the blush in your cheeks,
And selfishly i wanted you back near me,
Because my poetry is nothing but our crazy streaks.
“Tell me about yourself…”
On odd days, on bad days, on days real good,
Poetry flows out as I sit and brood,
And I keep hoping this time will be it,
This time I’ll say what my heart would if it could.