It's raining and
I'm yearning
for prompts to write.
Though I get,
but nothing in mind.
The raindrops
penetrates into my soul,
Reminding memories
of years gone.
Of days when your smile
was enough to write.
I still wish to write
poems for you.
As you are stranded
In your own isle,
Searching for perfection.
Whereas the way lies
in embracing the flaws.
I know that you are broken.
But don't the broken
crayons still colours?

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I'm an artist who doesn't know where to or how to draw lines
I only know when someone raises their voice or hand, I draw a line with a crayon - it's their favourite colour

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crayons.....
Some are dull,
other are bright
Some are sharp,
other are pretty
..... But all live together..
in the same BOX

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When I was busy with my quest
to a fancy degree,
brisk suits
and into important rooms
with important people
my childhood walked away
with a handful broken crayons
and in a torn, crumpled uniform.

And it hit me much later
that I'd missed my goodbye.

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Her broken heart adores the same
just like the broken crayons color the same.

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and then, we were forced to grow up
before we could get to know why
crayon packs came with a white color.

turns out, the white was just our
entire childhood in a shade
that would lay within us,
in silence, until the day we decide
life is finally enough black,
to use it.

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Broken Crayons still Colour.

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Always just be like a crayon, colour pencil, sketch pen or multiple color of paint, the reason behind is every color is equally uses so like wise your talent, achievement will be useful to yourself, think about it, more than living things nonliving things teach us good lesson

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I was the blank white paper, you filled crayons into & now I would never be the same again.

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A for apple, B for ball, C for cat
Hey wait..Wait..C also stands for crayons na,
Crayons are those who paints
Even after they are broken up.
I remember an incident too,
Once, I painted my dream in crayons.
His love was like blue crayon for me
That painted my whole sky.
Si, while I was with him,
I drew my dream in crayon.
Nights were long but days were short,
Everything was messy and something was missing,
But whenever I added him, it felt like perfect.
We even danced in dark like still we could see.
His warm talks seemed like sweater in chilly cold.
Walks on the roads were like cooling in scorching heat.
Destination didn't matter for us,
Because our love story was an adventure.
The time was innocent and so was our love.
Memories are too long but moments were not.
That's why my dream is still in crayons.

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