Dreams Of An Artist

Dreams Of An Artist

My brush is dipped in indigo paint.

My canvas is here in front of me.

Am a good artist so I don wan to depend colours,

Am a good painter so colours will depend on me.

      Am not a photographer who searching for sights,

     Am not a spoon feeded baby to depend my mom,

     My brush is with iron but wont rust,

     My brush will hear my voice it will paint for me,

I wann to be the king of this world!              

Yes am, the Midas I will make everything gold!

So I wan to fly away from this well,

I will change the colours of the sky above me.

                                  Greema Michael

AM I A PRODIAL DAUGHTER

       Am I a prodigal daughter?

Why did you procrastinate that day?

Why this procrastination,

Let‘s come, proclaim who’s the prodigal daughter.

Let me write a poem for me …

Am I a prodigal daughter?

     Am not a repentant spendthrift,

     But I can say, I have a mind prodigal of ideas.

     Am not a setwind wanderer,

     But I will find a new world for you.

Arras are pardas for hanging on walls,

Archives for archivists.

This is my venue my venture,

I don t want a veil or to veer.

    Let be prodigal of giving your blessings,

    Let’s make me your prodigious creation.

                           Greema Michael

TAKE ME

                TAKE ME

may be am getting confused in this night
don get confused on me am not drunk
and this is not a confession
may be someone  is trying to take me away from you

why we did that krishna
that made to fly butterflys under my lap
why you kissed me
that made me to wait for your kisses

now let me proclaim one thing
this is not my place to rest and not my bed
i wan to hide my face in that deep woods
i wan my pillow that can also hug me

this is not my home not my palace
i must be there  with you
take me with you
i wan to be with you
                               GREEMA MICHAEL.K

  Be the king of this world

What do you say about this life,

What do you sing about this life,

 This is a gallery not a grave to burry.

This is not a derby but a date.

Hey here  is  a wine yard ,  for utopians,

Hey  utopians life itself an imaginary world.

forget about past forget about future,

Forget about all about you now.

Do you want to cry , get lost from this life...

Do u want to hide , world will blame you...

This the stage of best players ..

If you think you  the worst, step Down the stage

No one is there to stop you,

No one is there to call you back ,

But there may be one who can live for you,

One who always paint her life for you.

So step on the stage for your heart,

Step up the stairs of paradise.

Take your sword and make it a birch,

Shed your tears for your love,

Come and drink this wine at the lees,

And sing am the king of this world.

                   GREEMA MICHAEL.K