Spring In Me .

Spring In Me .

 

Ebony is turning to brown ,
Somewhere in me I see a happy frown.
Away from the chills and winter fight,
Just an ember I need to ignite.

To blanket on my scars ,
Fireflies will be my stars.
Yes , my blooms are missing,
Don’t forget , my roots are living .

Beacons will feed him,
And green upto the rim .
Gusts of glee and the rills of rapture ,
I’ll hold , I’ll fill and I’ll capture .

Inside his teensy-weensy eyes,
You’ll see an oasis vast and wide .
Not from the land of his dreams ,
He’ll bloom from the visionary rheme .

With the primness spring ,
His heart is rebounding like a spring .
Bumblebees around his fist ,
Because he’s blooming down his wrist .

-Yash Mainali

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Yash Mainali
Doesn't matter how many new blooms are there. Feeling for the very first one is totally conserved. No other can replace the feel of essence in prime florescence I had for.

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