Chiku Diaries

 I sometimes pretend candies are for kids,  But always wish to have some.  Always show thrillers are my type, But I know how much I fear blood. And never fail to judge childish fantasies, But I keep a secret to fly and soar high. To have wings woven of my dreams , As I touch the clouds and rise, Wings of purple feathers of glitters , Wings wide and warm is what I thrive for. Oh! but I lied that I never flew, I did with Wings of torment and woe ,  Tangled in the mess of my miseries and sorrow, Abandoning my body, deserting my home,  With the Wings I disgust the most ,  Happily, I fly in the sky above.

 An artist once painted a monochrome, Strokes of black, a pinch of white. An extravagant masterpiece, Yet fools of the kingdom scoffed, Their blinded eyes unable to grasp its meaning. They mocked the stillness, Dull and empty what they belived.  The king summoned the artist, Declared the work useless, And ordered him to flee. “Oh, My dear majesty,” the artist said, As the court rose in murmurs, “What men aspire their lives to be Is what they see before them. They call it a monotonous splash of grey, Yet forget that grey is what they live. They accept the colorless days, But rage when they see them reflected. We are told to celebrate the present, Not mourn its dullness. Yet when truth stands bare, It becomes unbearable.” The king stood silent. He saw not the painting, But the lives behind it. Those who had long abandoned color Declared it the finest work the kingdom had known. The artist stayed. And the monochrome remained,