Saturday, March 24, 2012

Stranger in her Backyard.

Sad she was,
Sadder her thoughts, 
And saddest was her back-yard; 
where she used to sow,
row by row,
whenever she felt low.
There.
She sowed
 seeds, and her thoughts too.

Time passed by. 
Some time after that,
Time passed by again.
Morning bird swung on the branches,
sang her a song
of mysterious land; never heard before. 


Then.
White. 
All White; Her Backyard. 
where feet wanted to fly,
just above from the ground 
merely protect the purity and essence
of that white.
White was the flowers.
Flowers she looked after-with all her heart and time,
water she poured every day and night.
Like before, 
Time passed by again.
Bird flew.
Nobody saw which direction.
No more- the morning melody.
Then.
 one day she woke up,
noticed a stranger 
walking all over those flowers
Then she yelled, "Careful with my dreams, sorry, I mean the flowers !"