Unfinished

I feel you 
as an unfinished prayer 
From the lips of poetry.

Sometimes I close my eyes 
on the night wind
To hear you singing 
From the moonlight.

Yet the sky wears purple grey
 To say greying greenery 
 Echoes in our melody.  





Author notes: Poems are just poems. They can't be one's life because reality is very  far away from imagination. 

Smiling branches

You chiseled 
your ocean deep 
mighty verses 
dear dove
to collect snow balls 
from the painted sky 
to hatch 
the glowing dawn.

Thousand eyes 
of summer
with you in the aura 
of my frozen autumn

May the ink 
of spring
shower 
the hues of cosmos 
on your verses.