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I Let My Freedom Rot
Out of all the thoughts,
I tend to caress this, the most.
The freedom and joy, lies together,
but distant; I suppose.
But all that lies is peace beyond it,
and that dream seems to end one day; then I oppose.
All that lies before, beyond and between;
are the colours, true,
that never around the soul, to be, seen.
But the pain in freedom,
tastes like jocund joy.
Nowhere in the blouse,
to be torn or to coy;
So, if, thou craves a life beyond that,
I clone my thought from the clouds to the shore,
for the deed, a seed, in to bore.
It is the nature of stars to cross,
of the roses to have thorns;
And as the cosmos align with that thought,
I would bury my soul for the freedom, I let rot.
© Supriya Baranwal
I tend to caress this, the most.
The freedom and joy, lies together,
but distant; I suppose.
But all that lies is peace beyond it,
and that dream seems to end one day; then I oppose.
All that lies before, beyond and between;
are the colours, true,
that never around the soul, to be, seen.
But the pain in freedom,
tastes like jocund joy.
Nowhere in the blouse,
to be torn or to coy;
So, if, thou craves a life beyond that,
I clone my thought from the clouds to the shore,
for the deed, a seed, in to bore.
It is the nature of stars to cross,
of the roses to have thorns;
And as the cosmos align with that thought,
I would bury my soul for the freedom, I let rot.
© Supriya Baranwal
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