originally written on: 9th January 2017
I sat down upon the oaken chair
To learn names of places I cannot pronounce
With a pile of books and messy hair
An atlas of unknown roads and towns
Though such knowledge was futile
All the paths would have led me astray
For my destination was a mirage,
So I ran upon the remote way.
I shut the books and failed the test
Frantically running with such zest
Behind a mirage, an only path
That was known to fill me with unrest
I pushed the oaken chair aside
Ready to recline in my creaking bed
But delusions bubbled up my mind
So I decided to write of you instead
Would you fancy knowing?
My cheeks glowed a sanguine red
First with ardour, then with anger
Funny how both start with ‘a’
I noticed, as I blackened the paper
And then laughed upon how you taught me
The importance of “gray!”
Then probably I shed a tear or two
Engulfed in my hues of blues
But soon smirked upon how this play of colors
Had no chance of amusing you.
A vision of your drowsy eyes
Melted down some dusty frost
As I lay on my bed with frozen sighs
Outside, in the dark, chilly night
Perhaps another star just crossed.