SD ( / )

Black

Dark
Is the humor of weary thorns
In the waves of the desert strech;
The spirit of the cactus evaporates,
Body left in the monotony of ashen grounds.

Wasted talent of the chameleon
On a moonless night,
The color
As opaque as the philosophy
Of the remotest star.

Abstinence,
That holds the reins
Of indulgence;
Bitterness,
That holds on ransom,
The verse of honey drops;
Despair,
That holds a hope,
Breaking into the tides of distant happiness;
Black,
That holds the suspense
Of animated hues.

Black
Holds the mystique.

by Sunil D'pudi

Comments (1)

i think you are a good poet too.