Will the white rolling clouds that grace
The green hills and the blue valleys be enough
To shroud my unvoiced thoughts
Or will they be blown away with a flurry of the wind?
Like the way the ground overflows with rain,
Filling potholes up to the rims,
Can I drench poetry with my thoughts
Or will it float along in rivulets, forceful and electric?
Like the traffic and humdrum of the city
At its peak in the dusky time of the day
Will my words be scattered among the blinding lights
Or will they find a solitary solace in the crowd?
Like the hills with their varied shades of green,
Creating a canopy in the sky
So is my soul of one colour,
But stroked with unfamiliar shades.
Like the myths and folktales
Engraved deep in its soil,
Will my voice stay strong and rooted
Or be buried deep amongst others?
Like the echoes of the night
Will I just fade into the dark
Or be a spectre, lingering, an echo of me
In the echo of what this place used to be?