Tell Me, O Innate Noesis

What dread will surprise me,
O you dark den?
To stroke lines and curves
with empty pen;
To bestow ranting words,
want to be free;
To take stiff like a grey wool
into the place of fury.

What pigment will stain me
O apple of one’s eye?
To paint picture of beauty,
to color with dye;
To draw a shape of madness
and texture of kind;
To indulge the will of hands
and pacify my mind.

What mist will annoy me,
O innate noesis?
How that hokey kind of life
spread its genesis;
To breathe a worker of steel
and a giver of bliss;
To exclaim eureka!!!
with thrills and worries.

What noise will deafen me,
Sound of silence?
To hum the tune of love
and the seethe of hate;
To soften the buzz of world,
playing their game;
As sweet wind blows by,
drifting away their name.

What mud will mess me up,
O you dirt of art?
To mold the shape of soul,
ready to stand;
To raise the image of brave,
man to admire;
And to bring the dead hero
back again to life…

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