Where is the grey they say life is?
Fusion of joy plus sorrow that is!
If black is all she saw all along,
Can white be seen in heaven alone?
Why is grey a dull, dusty dove?
There seems none to teach what is love!
Sweet ladies boast out their maladies,
The same in reality, are better than comedies!
The fool talks out all advances,
The witty uses those for all resistances.
Pride consumed the skilled, talkative wife;
She needs to be aware of the blind, black tide.

Words that could kill escaped through songs,
Little happiness vanished a few momentary thorns.
Plan and plan for time in plenty,
Waste your peace in nights when dreamy.
Home a black grave with grey epithaph!
Lines of pain, a rising rhyming graph.
He stands there, late to find the yard;
When the white she saw was in heaven, Oh Lord!
-Anjali Krishnan

© Anjali Krishnan