In the Valley, o'er the hillI heard a folklore that made me still.
Sturdy to scurry, too scared to flee
It reeked, eeked, creeked of moments to be.
Visions - they play constantly on my mind
Of memories, to memories I must myself bind.
An aged tale - a rickety brick
Cememted - yet betraying like a prick.
Fearlessly treading, righteousness on shoulder
Hate, angst, love, passion make the heart smoulder.
Containning life, holding memories
Sliding, but never releasing out of symmetry.
I see colour, I confess with pride
Hues and rhtyhms, taken with every stride.
The King's possessions be not dearer to me
As the slaved nobel locusts, angels, demons can never be set free.
The meter may go endlessly unwinding
But can light really be that blinding.
Wish I could let out a scream, a yell, create a brawl
But I'm only a well, a rope, a drawer...
Image courtesy the sketchbook of Sameerkulavoor
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