Moments

So many moments, here and there that you catch

By these pair of eyes and beat into bits

To fit into the brain and eyes that with the body match

Revisiting the times and the period that sits

Untouched in the beautiful connections;

Connections of the fat fat brain that curves

Every single time when you do reconstructions.

Rushing come the scenes in a random manner,

Diluting the intensities of the way things happen.

Yet, don't they flood themselves evenly on a banner

Of evenings, mornings and noon curling into a haven?

Landscapes, immobile beings and the blue sky;

The raindrops, shades and the sun that scorched

Those times and the moments failing to try

To register themselves like the ink that botched;

The ink that botched the paper blue or black.

But all those moments then seem colourless and plain.

Although they come flowing to the eye sac,

Trying to prove their existence in vain.