The waves of those blurred mists
Are just calling for rhyming
But I told that I’m just a poor one
I can’t really write poetic stuff,
Though I love to call it poetry in motion,
Oh! This gush, is what I’m scribbling
And not really always the sweet winds.
Those light steams just caressed,
Tried to cool me down, calm me,
Clasping my lids and just trying to listen
What it has to say to me,
I’m finding my solace,
In the purest rides of clouds.
Switching off the whirlpools,
These threads of air, resting me
Making me dip inside the slumbers of peace.
The waves of those blurred mists,
Are now what I’m dreaming.
Awake I’m scribbling.