Fearless Leo Pourparlers

Enrichment of the Cold It's the enrichment of the cold, It's the enlightenment of wearing the wool old. Ours the integrity of the cool breeze, Outta the interruptions of the cold that freeze. It's the time of playing the music of the dancing willows. It's the time to stitch to the pillows, It's the time of cold, It's the time for having something warm as told. -ADS©

 Revolutions of the Fan Watching the wall all day gives no fun, Counting the revolutions of my ceiling fan, And watching the drama of the clay-setting sun. Mounting my legs over my wall; wet and tan, Leaning over the windows and seeing the rider's stun. Stoning over the corners of the wall, I tend to break which I never can. Making new faces while looking on the street and the children who run. Adjusting my curtains the way I'd like and I can. Looking on myself while wasting all the day of sun. -ADS©

 This Morn This morn, I prefer to be quiet, To be resolved of every fight. This morn, I want to be calm, To be relieved of all tinglings of clocks of alarm. This morn, I wish harmony, To move, back those clashes with enemy(ies) This morn, I learn peace, To be lost, in the piece of peace. I wish this part of dawn, I prefer to be quiet this morn. -ADS©

Why is it so?  Ever asked why trees are green, Or why those roads are too unclean. Why this earth is a round world? Or why it is a flat surfaces circled. Why is that clouds curled? And why are our heads skulled? Why is that water blue? Why so sticky is that glue? Why bark those dogs? Or why paper is made up of pulpy wooden bags? How are our hairs black? Or why those joggers always prefer running on track? Why are those chemicals flashed? Have you ever asked? -ADS©

 Cold Rains The rain of frost, The water as a ghost. Which wets our feet, Which blinds us as sleet. The rain of frost, Cold - Cold water, Oooh! A ghost. The rains of a liquid, The universal solvent potential fluid, The rains on the alleys, The flood that fills up our Baillie 's. The rains on mountains, Flows aways as if building a fountain. -ADS©

 Desire for Time Pass A desire for some timepass, A crave for some timepass. A want  of opening the grandpa's suitcase, a desire for investigating some photos of his childhood face. An impulse for some timepass, a desire for making some out of the waste glass. A desire for some wasteful task, A want for some play with chemical flask. An impulse to burn my mother's dress, A wish for having a clay to press, A desire for timepass, A want for squeezing all lime, An inclination of wasting some time. -ADS©

Warm Breathes Of Winter Its Winter, God! Save me, O Lord! From these prismic snow, It freezes my blood, O god do you know? When no help I seek, I freeze up for a or two week. When I live with no water and food, When I survive with no heater and burning wood. When I actually become use to with the winter, i need my breathe as my splinter. i understood why you didn't helped me , O lord, Because, you want me to face problems , and find the solutions provided by yourself, God! -ADS©

  The Transparency Of Wind The blue of the sky, Is whatever but very high. The transparency of the air, Is whatever but very fair. This blues and transparency is free, Of entering any leaf and leaving any tree. Of infertile -ing every hill and saturating every lea, Is free of being trapped in a pea. Or is also free to burst out the container forcing it to not to be free. From the Durbar of king Charles to the broken house of a slave, It is common for every pyre and every grave. From the breathe of any rich, To the exhale of any poor. Noone could stop the wind's tour. -ADS ©

 The Shimmering Moons Ans Suns Beyond the box is rare, Because some minds are aware of this thing rare. only few can think and assume. the fire on wood and upcoming ashes and fumes. the water on fires, an upcoming dizzles and dooms. But, the levels of assumptions crosses its limits. the sun it fits; rhe moon it lits. one couldn't count the moons that shimmer on her roofs. Or the thousand splendid suns that shine beyond her walls. -ADS©

  Moonlight's Perfume Every night, the moon comes lit, And with a craze of fascinate; sits, All the beams of it's light twinkles the huts of a rural. Or the roofs of houses and kolbas numbered plural. The clouds force the light dazzles and doom, But, stikl remains the moonlight's splashing perfume. This way, every night the moon craves for its reflecting beams taste, And excretes , the peace of it that we juste waste. -ADS©

  World Stitched by a Dreamed Witch World of plants and animals, Instead of upcoming human version of cannibals. World of unity and integrity, Other than that of discriminate and inequality. World full of positive feelings, Unlike thag drazzling crowd of stock dealings. World of desperate faith and belief, In wave off of, those dishonoured taunts and revengeful mischeifs. World of peace, Unlike that of scorching like a lice. World of Harmony, Other than that of, partners demanding huge profitable alimony. World that we all wish to enrich, Unlike dreaming of some witch to come for us to come and the world she stitch. -ADS©