The Square Root!

The Square Root
When he took the shelter
In a diabolical state of mind
There was an empty folder
Which he couldn't then find.

Why these numbers, they escape
Of their radical prepositions and utilities,
For they will be used, again and again.
The numbers, calculated, deciphered in vain.

The digit, he calls himself.
a number, nevertheless.
wants to transform, be transformed.
takes shelter, no more homeless.

He doesn't escape, doesn't complain.
For this world is analog.
so is the nature, digital.
His life, frugal.

The stairs he saw, were a number.
The life, concentric circles, descending.
Ascending at times.

Because the World counts.
in bits and pieces.
The individuality, the digit yearns for it.

The shelter stands perfect.
Transformation, rooted.
Transcending the imaginary to real.
The Square Root. The Digit. Transformed.

That Blue Canvas!

Blue is a surreal color.
Color of vision. Color of someone’s eyes.

Blue is the color of sync, an element of trust
The color that is, should be painted, a must.

Blue is a vision of a beautiful thing
of things I’d have never felt.
The canvas I picked, the color, it melt.

Of painting a canvas, the color was real
I painted a rainbow, such was the feel.

The sky looks Blue, aye we know all,
But does it bleed blue, when it makes a fall?

Then it occurred, a vision unfolds, in a flurry
I kept on blinking, for my vision was blurry
I looked for my colors, the only one I saw
There was nothing but blue, shining and raw.

In the canvas, a few inches away
Saw a little bird which jus flew away
I painted a tree, for she would stay
The leaves were but plenty, for us to play.

I moved my brush, so that I could greet
Knew forever, the chance was here to meet
The hands din’t move, for the painter was in a trance
For she chose my branch, and that was not just by chance.

Blue was the color, that bird which came
For he never even knew if she had a name.
The bird that was painted, she was just blue
And the painter stood there, for moments that were long due.

He painted another bird and the canvas came alive
The two sat together, on a branch to connive.
The beaks held together, the feathers, them peek
What suddenly happened, the answer could not seek.

The canvas painted itself, for the painter was gone
The two birds together, their canvas all alone.
Blue was the color, always in their grasp,
Blue was the color that made them always gasp.

They sat there closely, looking into each other’s eyes
The canvas was short for them, and so were the skies.
The painter was now the bird, for he wanted to become,
The color was now the bird, for which the painter had come.

Their canvas, their sky, of what you'd just seen
Their own little world where they always have been
The birds as they whispered, so gentle and kind,
The painting came alive, as it was in their mind.

What is it that binds the two, now you may ask,
For the world may never get it, they were two birds without a mask.

And will they sail together over and above this canvas, did you ask?
Thy canvas will spread, for thee have taken to this task.

The color is now real, for the imagination has come true,
The color that was always real, the color that was Blue.
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-V!k$