I am into descriptive poetry
Robert Frost is god for me.
One sleepless night, squandering in my bed,
Flashing the torch, out of my blanket's net
The gleaming white, despersing in my eyes.
Through rustling of pines,
...
Dark, brown, hazel
Thy hairs, I'm keen to sense
For my eyes narrate, ardur's resemblance, a peach
But my soul, finds her to be aquamarine.
...
The molten red, casting a bronze spell
eyes savouring the phenomenon,
I, standing besides myself, detached.
"We need shackles", I said to the ghost.
...
There's a spirit behind the window
Agile, bewildered and restless
Directionless it moves, vague and senseless
It's made of all hues and shades
...
A certain awe, of greens,
of all its shades and hues
Henna being poured mother,
all the reds, crimson, brown, Losing its colour.
...