Or those sad sonnets, <br />Which are as gloomy as the gloom they sing. <br /> <br />Today I write about the dusty roads to my home <br />Where I meet those <br />Ever cheerful dogs, <br />With unwell but innocent eyes. <br /> <br />Today I write about the pleasant rain <br />That comes amidst hot summer days, <br />A flower that springs among the rocks, <br />And the scent that comes to meet me at my window <br />From a factory nearby. <br /> <br />Today I write about the hope of a dying youth <br />That vanishes like the dew <br />Before the sun ever peeks over the horizon. <br />That first smile of child, <br />That first gush of wind <br />That secretly buries the seeds of spring <br />In the barren winter lands. <br /> <br />Today I write about those undying voices, <br />That fill this void beneath the clouds, <br />Silent and unnoticed. <br />Those immortal melodies <br />That floats on this air <br />Ever since the world breathed its first. <br />Those uncharred beauties <br />That beckons me from a yonder, <br />and everyday fills my eyes with <br />Unexpressable wonder.<br /><br />Pramithas Dhakal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/today-i-write-not-a-song-of-despair/
