'Who writes you
Morn?
When with eyes woken
You are born,
Every day,
Who writes you,
Say?
Who bestows you with such lines?
Who makes You so divine?
Who sings the breeze in you?
Who showers you with dazzling dews?
Who nurtures dreams that bind you?
Who pours music in your heart, beau?'
Once a soul asked another,
Sitting as they were
Under a clear crystal sky, highly defined,
Once a soul asked another
Sitting as they were
Having a breather,
After traversing a few thousand light years,
Once a poem asked her life,
Sitting as they were
Illumined,
And life answered:
' because the wind has only happiness
In his flowing movement,
Because the flower has only dreams
To wake with wonderous essence,
Because the river has only mirth
To run to the ocean where she could with her destiny merge,
Because the sky is primordial, like a morn , shiny and wide,
Because divinity is like a Truth, a Dawn, a Holy Tide,
Because life is a road never ending till the end to ride,
Because Life is, coded as Infinite...'
Hearing this reply,
The Poem bloomed,
On a page white,
Hearing this,
The Poem,
Bloomed to a morning~
An amazing life.
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