Searching- A saga ✔

49- A Thousand Meanings

Somehow, I can't stop writing,

Emotions flow into undaunted words,

And they flow and flow and flow,

Spreading and proliferating,

Into phrases and verses of love.

My life seems colourless,

A thousand tones of thunder,

A thousand shades of gray,

A thousand tastes of salt,

A thousand variants of the same story,

Yet, I can't seem to stop,

Writing pieces of poetry that claim,

A thousand feelings of sentiments ,

Unending sensations and passions,

For the one who I endlessly love,

A thousand emotions unleashed,

A thousand inclinations unheard of,

A thousand pathways dirty with dust,

A thousand butterflies without wings,

A thousand rivers dried up without water.

Rains splatter violently, lightning flashes,

The sun breaks in between those dark clouds,

The gales of change whisper and flurry past,

Bringing with them the sweet scent of Sandalwood,

I really don't belong in this colourless dimension.

In this monochromatic life, the only colours that-

Ever call out are those in a solitary peacock feather.

A thousand shades blue, midst a collage of grayscales,

Monsoon blue, midnight blue, Dark blue.

The colours of my life are so beautiful.

The yellow that glitters like sunflowers in bloom,

The sands of deserts that are long forgotten,

This very poem, makes no sense, 

Random words strung together like pearls,

That no longer belong to each other in a necklace.

My life is an allegory of satirical comedy,

From its monochromatic grayscales,

To its various shades of blue and yellow,

Its a beautiful composition of giddy conscience,

Not all would understand, this cold modesty.

I'll laugh someday when I read this poetry,

And silently let my tears slip past,

Sometimes His love makes me so drunk,

So drunk and so addicted to Him,

That I can't demarcate and differentiate all the-

Thousand rays of His blinding Love,

Thousand colours of the rainbow of life,

Thousand tastes of sweetened honey,

Thousand butterflies that take to the stars,

Thousand emotions that once shackled me.

The consummate embodiment of imperfect perfection,

The ideal portrait of the impurely infallible love,

 Maybe, I really should order my thoughts,

Before I compose the verses of my next poetry,

Because the pearls no longer belong together.

But they are strung together in this twine of love,

And clasped by the knot of eternal promises,

These may not make any sense to you,

Yet, Kanha will understand every double meaning,

And that would mean everything to me.