by Nithin Purple
For the clay, a cold and swoon y theme,
It owns a remember'd wreath's sadly way,
As if in rolling tears they passing them.
O' rest in,the void and empty's languid may.
You being's so closer god,an echo yet sad,
For mortal days,or as in my wretch's soul?
Favor's in deepest pain,the mourning bird,
Of doom's and ceased ways of illness hurl-
Reach her night's airy height,a village,its truth lost!
Where the shadow of the scene,in last eyes
While white the clouds wept for sullen all white
You are in dew,the sharp,when crystal loss,
Melt the name in rapid fire,while are wilt.
come and perish, life to death in its trot,
kind of precious pearly halo it works taint.
Roll to mine sorrow,you enatic root'
The unseen fly that flies in radar height;
To meet her in pillowy roost,is now dream that waste!
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Nithin Purple is an Indian born post -diplomate, writer, poet and draughtsman, born and raised in, Kerala, is a man of hybrid curiosity with audacious dreams, Who like to tune his own fancied lute through the golden steps of literature and his evergreen fine artistic whim, which took a course in him to nurture his literary skills. He gives importance to cultural studies and science and astrology. A freak who runs back to revolving time, an antique fanatic who have nostalgic dreams to apply in poetry, prose or any sort of creative work. A graphic mind in him helps to force his boundless language that circles a passionate tinge to diffuse his, Career, He likes aggressiveness to keep his visionary ideas by freedom to think and work. He like to travel and experiment his eager thoughts where he is strongly fond of nature and all the, Forms of it.Literature is his keen strength and his sufferings..
Last updated July 18, 2013