A Voice I Hear
A Voice I Hear
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.