(Pic from http://magpietales.blogspot.in/)
Deep muse, slow moves.
Rooted firmly, in mud divine
Lotus life, inspiration forever.
There is a way, it goes shooting up high
Its high up and I am in no mood
this is rooted cool cradle of mine.
Here I dream in flowers, yellow
entwined green, white, black memories
high up there is a world of identities
Its high up and I am in no mood.
Here it is wet mud, familiar vestige,
of yester home, tinges of love gone
warmth of unassuming odd gifts,
strings of beliefs , sincere air,
that breathed life into mass, for soul.
Its high up, feel and fragrance lost,
in heights of victory, persona, grandeur
stench of pretense, still lingering and
memories with ditched corners.
But this way it goes winding, up high
Slow, rough steps of acceptance
Rains of truths to take-in, hard.
High grandeur of stars, divine
Victory, loses no shine with time.
Vision clear, rooted firmly.