They adored, spoke highly
The art, so captivating
It seemed to express all in mind
Yet, so incomprehensible
They lacked words, expressions
The colours, patterns had another language
As if a soul peeking another
And yet, not an eye realized
The canvas had not colours painted
It was blood; pain and tears
People rejoiced-enjoyed;
the suffering of another soul.



Spring is just sleeping
Exhausted with all the bloom
The lush colours, mud and rain
With the people’s praise and blame.

Tired with all the work,
Just a slumber so human
It would wake up soon enough
Bringing cheer and hustle  back.

Till then let the land fallow
Let it rest with a blanket white
Let it feel the warmth of love
We call so cold and cruel.

‘Cause unless you stop and refill
Your resources would exhaust
And unless comes night
Day will never dawn!