Drops Of Stars

In the shade spread by the tree
A
Tiny bush is standing,
Such gentle little thing;
A bird perched on the branch,
A flower dropped on the bush
The bush looked up,
I was afraid
It might walk away
With its slate and books
Now the small bush with
Is the picture before me
Pulsating with flaming colours,
He is sipping the starry drops
Of my thoughts,
A butterfly sauntering over it
Disturbs the peace of my eyes;
In this a living scene
There is no place even for a bird,
Filaments and pollen
Only board the vehicles
Of flowers,
Even perfumes
Must hold the rods of winds
And travel
In this picture
Every object
Lives
With individuality;
Removing anyone for another
Evokes a tempest of pains
In the worlds of my thoughts,
Even the meanings
Of my language
Which my eyes speak,
No one can understand