The Magician of The Colours
                                                                  
Your colours are enchanting me
Oh! The enchanter of the colours
Your colours are charming me
Oh! The charmer of the colours

Some colours are scarlet some sacred
some are familiar and some are not
Some are pious and some are recluse
some are majestic and some are not
Being a festive of colours, on the festal day
came to get coloured, to be happy and gay

Some colours are lighter than the space
if ever I try, I may fall short of the race
Some of them are deeper than an ocean
under which I may not find any place
All the surroundings have gone infatuated
inhaling educed the complexion of my face

Your colours are passionating me
Oh! The juggler of the colours
Your colours are attracting me
Oh! The extractor of the colours
Your colours are fascinating me
Oh! The magician of the colours

In the Love

While getting apart away
the eyes gone wetted sway
If not out of love then
why it felt shy of that way

Chirped in the garden as on a call
coming from a far distant fall
Bloomed the blossoms one to one
each one every one out of all

The visit is admired
a settlement is desired
Else may take away along with
since gone mad as been fired

The Creation of a Poem

It is not easy as, as that of a nought
To create a poem, up upon a thought

No aspect is left out, not even on nought
Still some plunge into, and gems are brought

While playing a game, from both of the ends
Who is going to loose, when it is fought

Nothing is of that sort, but a feel is given
One is being wetted, with a shower of drought
 

Poetry, an imagination, goes beyond the seas
Story is like a shuttle, so it can be caught