Empty Palette

a poem by Abraham Oommen

Piled up twigs and wisps far from
To make a cosy little nest
High so high on a little branch.
Fancied colourful dreams many
Of our little home that far above
Swing in flirting breeze capricious.
Warbling the epics of our courting,
How I yearned to build my home
Leaning, watching her shining eyes!
Fell down the palette on the canvass,
The dreamy hue drops stipple nightmares.
Sit I whimpering on the pile wasted
Warble sad notes from this parched throat
I weep and groan in the shadow dark
Rail at fate for this subtle prank.