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A Voice I Hear

A Voice I Hear

3 mins
376


The river is skeletal in summer;

Once colored in the happiness of shower.

Palmful of water hid among the chiding pebbles;

Sun kind enough to shine it yellow and marvel.

He rises from the trail of stream;

Dripping water from his elegant plate trim.

The pond too is hot like the air;

Sweat married to swamp under the noon liar.

Dress cheats his essence as a liar;

Fingers cease his breath under the water.

Shinning of pebbles welcome his feet;

Feels so heavy by the light meet.

Rises above the stream by a gentle push;

‘O God’ the art of man is set to brush.

To paint humanity on the canvas of nature;

That continues to end as mother nurture.

The patch of red that color his trouser;

Kisses him pale in the parlour of butcher.

Each day he slaughters one;

Feeds the mind by his grace of sailing.

No one asks to which faculty he belongs;

Except for the Master in the hymn of holy song.

‘Oh God’ then the voice came gentle;

Forgive me for my sin so simple.

The water is green the brush is white;

The sky is dark my fear is bright.

Sun shines deafening the eyes of man;

Behind His head that continue to rain.

Strikes his brush looking up above;

Utters for all ‘Let peace prevail forever!’.


The paint is over by the sounds of poetry;

The artist the poet “ God the almighty”.

In the world of colors I float;

Imagination of the old always blot.

He knocked the doors of my soul;

A poet or an old or a voice of prophecy fowl.


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