A Suppressed Sun

Everytime I look upon the sky,

my mind releases a word of sigh.

Among all these industrial lights

the darkness of nature I prefer, or the starry nights.

The twinkling of words - whenever I glimpse at those

my skipping heart beats a bit more.

 

Even the moon owes to be lit,

and its beauty is the sun's gift.

But the moon still got all the praises,

because the sun was asked to suppress.

Will it ever reach to the sky above

my thoughts in words that I wrote alone?

 

The poems written on the nature's note,

and the songs played, are similar to those.

the rhythm being played never lies,

but it surely fades out and dies.

Still, the songs I sing are poems indeed

but the thoughts I think are just mere seed.