By Purnima Ray
You, the bearer of stars and its light,
I talk to thee, in suit of armour bright!
I ain't any perfect painting, to your perfect brush,
Would you still kiss the strokes of my hopes' blush?
I utter words defying your ears and soul,
Would you still dismiss those as a fool's troll?
I don't believe in your reason and belief,
Would you still hold me tight, while my scars grief?
I question the answers of the might of your wings,
Would you still sing your miracles to let me spring?
I abhor your plays and chide the relays,
Would you still shelter me from blaze and colour my greys?
I lose patience and get upset as if it gnaws at you,
Would you still stick through, to sort my blues?
I cry my selfish notes to you as the only note,
Would you still boast my pages, wherein you wrote?
I wish to steal your pen and erase me wherever you penned,
Would you still compose it again as a friend?
I am no easy book, but glossy yet crumbled page of cover,
Would you still etch the silent stories like a dreamy lover?
I dream of universes parallel, rendezvous, snuggling me tightly in its circle, Would you still alter the fate and honour it as eternal?
I am strange to the petals of trust and love,
Would you still flower my world from up above?
I shut you and your world out every now and then,
Would you still burn the shutting doors to bless my prayers, Amen?