Of embroidered yarns weave those hues,
Upon frayed fabric of my heart,
Fill it with your colors profuse
To make me your own singular part.
With intricate shades make splendid form
That holds the attention of every eye
Break the spell of the singular norm
In which lively souls day by day dies.
This damp earth is now flecked with hues,
Too much resplendent and radiant in nature,
Its bewitching guile is enough to suffuse
That glorious splendor in the soul of every creature.
A soul struck with the dampness of cold,
A soul flailing in the air of enmity,
Soon is drenched in waters of gold,
Staring at their visages in stark alacrity.
Careful is the weavers at work,
Careful is the inordinate threads of flowers,
The earth in magnificent beauty gone berserk,
And there prevails madness at all hours.
A boy of the age of winter's stifling years,
Awaiting the divine presence for so long,
That all his brimming angst, his tears,
Are drowning in the waves of spring's song.
Draw crooked lines of confusion in stark beauty,
Give birth to ingenuity in this maddening disorder,
Make me forget all my life's imperious duty
By breaching the line of my heart's border.
Create curves and turns to distort everything
With motley shades paint a radiant rainbow,
That must live on as that rare boon of a king
Eternally, shimmering outside my mind's window.