The coin: Idea and Criticism

Centuries set their concepts in bowls of criticism

For butterfly concept lost and found in poetry

By the hands of critics

In the rhapsody of a red rose and vermillion hues 

dreams and ideas are set to birth or die.

Within the cruel mirage of sacred lotus 

I wonder if they pick the kind of death 

Within insatiable tones of silent echoes 

In marigold orb and eclectic eyes

I wonder if they allow the victims’ sole choice of this.

Beyond pluralization of each portal

None and Notion set the path 

To sentimental summer sorrows dancing with waltzing winds

One a driver, the other a vehicle

Chanting kismet kisses of radiant rays on lilac lilies. 

Inventors set their struggles in myths

Their hope and faith are set to boil as meat

The spice of their intentions and seasoning of their will meet

They are one with the borough as the ruins of a poetic mind

Old as their years in timeless lyrics 

New as each second in unseasonal colours 

They win strict testing of divine visage as unscripted karma

After their insanity has been weaned by the belief 

or proximity of doubts birthed by curiosity.