His Painting

In Michigan’s twilight⁣ 
on a fall in August
carrying my colorless body
of purposeless breaths
caged in dark depths
my feet step out and enter god’s painting

It’s the painter’s breathing art
daubed with autumn colors
flavors of maple flaunting leaves,
gold and red
some of them withered
to render a carpet,
florid and vivid
garnishing the bed of soft black soil
moist with liquidized black clouds
diffusing an aroma of earthy undertones
on which my body
of frozen mind and hardened heart
wanders aimlessly as a living stone

Butterflies dancing in the air
to the song of a koel
resting on a sweetgum twig
reciting the praise of the lord
and I walk deep into the woods
Silent gusts of wind
trying hard to shake me up
to wake me up

My feet reach the land’s end
to the beginning of a lake,
pristine and bluish green
marrying the contrasting sky,
of yellow and orange gleam

A tickle on my feet
my eyes scroll down from the horizon
witnessing a golden butterfly resting on my skin
it takes off over the water, flapping
and I see a bright figure
dancing with the waves
the lake is now a mirror
in the light of the drowning sun
reflecting the lively soul, an eternal manifestation of joy
of my lifeless body, an apparatus for mortal woes

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