Tales Of The Bard Poem by Daniel Laari Jacob

Bundles of glowing languid fame
keep growing day by day.
The marks of pains clasp the wrists, numb,
And the shelf glare beams of emptiness.
The Bard could not but discard and disregard the crowded stars in his chest.

But over the mountains overhead
the clouds glued blue,
Extending a handshake in her beams.
The Bard could not but be euphoric.
The coated wrists of pains gained its domain
to explore,
And the shelf became the allusion of the ages hence.