Writing

I wrote on the white paper
The ink flowing, leaving behind
A thick track of blue.

I wrote of love, sweet love;
I wrote of life, cruel life;
I wrote of spring, of the fragrant smell
Of flowers; I wrote
Of lakes and ponds, of palm-fringed shores.

I wrote rhymes to Heaven, to God;
I wrote of the flirting dust,
Of the smell of cow dung, of the hutments,
Of the sky-scrappers, of ragged bodies,
Of the snowy winter.

Time flew by,
The hand grew weary,
Words became smudged,
Eyelids dropped to dream of sweet love,
Of life, of life without love.
The blue-black paper remained
Stagnant
In my front.

(This penning authored by Viswas K P
(Mob: 09449825583) was published in 'POEMS 1969'
and was awarded appreciation by Gieve Patel
a writer of modern poetry)