The Prism Of My Heart
At times, a short verse I write,
To capture a momentous thought;
At others, to freeze what I just saw,
I click a photograph that can say it all.
A random sketch I make on handy paper,
A maze of contradictory fleeting thoughts;
Then to it I add brush strokes of varied colour,
That reflects light through the prism of my heart.
I feel compelled to express myself in sundry form,
So as to deter my mind and my soul from steady rot:
I keep flowing, so like a rolling stone I gather no moss.