life · poetry · scribbles · story

Fine Wine

I painted my imagination with you in mind,
Unfortunately, it was all black.

Cloud of thoughts that floats over the canvas has colors of us which merge to a rainbow.
Black was not your imagination, it was the sky of shackles keeping us apart.

The colours were long lost when you said ‘school is over’, each day, we now fight a battle of our own which ends in either white or black.

O my friend, how do I keep you?
You are young, wild and free,
Reach out and achieve the fame,
For souls like you can’t be tamed.

Why any of us has to be tamed?
Why do we need fame?
I am just floating with the wind of the universe
Sitting with you writing a verse.
Darling, let the wind paint the colors on the canvas of our lives,
The blacks and the whites are just feathers of time.
Love like ours is eternal.
Imagination is like fine wine.

Note: The piece where I am the muse and my muse is my co-author. This is not a poem. This is a WhatsApp conversation.

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