Don’t picture me any more
in your poesies.
I see a general sense of
monotony creeping in
your writes.
The same visage
drawn over and over again,
to an extent that now my face
looks lackluster.
How you beautify me with the
embellishments of your words!
Where is the soul that I had
fallen in love with?
Its just flesh and bones.
The more you draw me,
the more haggard I become,
the more arid does your painting
turn into...
Dull and bland!
Why are the colors subdued,
where is your artistic panache,
those careless yet perfect
brush strokes?
Why do you have to wring out
colors from your paint brush?
Trust your instincts,
they shall flow on their own.
Dip the brush in
the untainted color
of your pure love.
Shades shall drip like honey,
and you shall breathe life
into me.
in your poesies.
I see a general sense of
monotony creeping in
your writes.
The same visage
drawn over and over again,
to an extent that now my face
looks lackluster.
How you beautify me with the
embellishments of your words!
Where is the soul that I had
fallen in love with?
Its just flesh and bones.
The more you draw me,
the more haggard I become,
the more arid does your painting
turn into...
Dull and bland!
Why are the colors subdued,
where is your artistic panache,
those careless yet perfect
brush strokes?
Why do you have to wring out
colors from your paint brush?
Trust your instincts,
they shall flow on their own.
Dip the brush in
the untainted color
of your pure love.
Shades shall drip like honey,
and you shall breathe life
into me.
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