Sacrosanct white truths of life leave me jumbled often
My brown mahogany rusty table being shifted to another room,
my constant sheltered pillow being given to the newly born.
I am a ballistic allusion of a ‘yes and a no’,
the concoction of my mother’s truth and father’s pride,
I kiss morning each day with a Delphic sigh, oblivious smiles
for I am a petal of cyan mauvy shadow,
A limerick of fragility and frosty faded nights
My parched lips once again blossom into reds, pinks, nudes
and I shall be planted like a slick sheet of an unturned page of a pale book
Further into your valley of wilderness.
Visit Devika at https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com.