The finger is pointed to a new flower in balcony
And thence to a rainless cloud ,a sprouting sun.
The translucent blue defers to the low-rise gold
In the blankest sky ever eaten by pearly clouds .
The wind plays mischief with yesterday’s flower
And flower promptly drops from helpless mother.
All this while our sun friend would rise slowly
On the lazy Sunday from under a sleeping blanket
Of thick and silky cotton rolls of rainless cloud.
Sunday is his own day,not another son-of-a-gun’s.
- 2,430 hits