Drowning out through seeping acrylic
Unconventional canvas on a rickety easel
Not even possessing the power to paint
The broken wing of a broken swan
Despite her weakened frailty
She paints
Using her beak, using her feet
The swan finds it consoling to know
That the littlest, infinitesimal purposes
Are purposes
None the same

Walk, the coals beneath my feet
Searing at my skin
Why is this pain not felt?
Thick skin? Loss of nerves?
A blast through the wall of reality
Draws unto the leering smile
I'm grinning as I'm pulled under
My body is on fire
Why is this pain not felt?
Thick skin?

The Yorkshire Rose, elegantly perched on the bridge
This was not London, or the palace
nor Manchester, where Mancurians are free
nor Blackpool, where the beach swallows
Glasses, towels, mussels clinging to rocks
The Yorkshire rose, drawn upon the bridge
Bullet trains, leading distances
Almost unfathomable in this very spot
Harrogate, bath water
Spilling onto the street in natural sulphuric geysers
Burning
The Yorkshire Rose, fleeting in memory
In ghosts of the abbey nearby

I have been witness to many things
You must fear not what cold winter brings
You are young, but the reason this bird sings
To you, sapling, this bird clings
Let go of your evergreen hesitations
Your leaves will fall in wondrous presentations
Followed by gazes of beautiful validation
Your stems a sign of majestic acclimatization
While your trunk grows larger and far more in tune
Your leaves will broaden to as large as the moon
To each passing insect and all birds here soon
Your pits to catch water as a natural spoon
You see, young sapling, you are a delight
Do not see winter as a source for fright
Each tree in this forest has seen the same plight
But all have continued their journey for light

..
~

hundreds of thousands of words,
we told through our whole life

tens of thousands of sentences,
you wrote in your novel

thousands of dreams,
we dreamed through our passing dark nights

millions of images,
we left in our moving past times

but my friend
at the end,
I carry

only a few images of withered petals
except all those nightmares
yet I can feel a few dreams of yours, repeatedly

even I can recall a few words of yours
that grew the motion of life
maybe you can feel a few words of mine

As  the words that can make a wonderful  lyric
"I love you, that holds an eternal truth"
yet that shining as a crystal of diamond
..
~
@Musfiq us shaleheen