Fresh buds

Daylight is sprinkling upon
an infantry of trunks
dressed in ebony.

My unfinished sonnet is in disarray,

its colors got drained
weaving dreams for you.

I rummage around
every nook and corner of me,
but verses have evanesced,

left behind
imprint of lips on a mirror.

I observe the branches in full bud.

An army of ants
ascend a withered bark
carrying bits and pieces of life,

some shiny webs are
in anticipation.

At times I feel
the breeze may bring me
back to my verses

and flowery perfume
of your shampoo.