Splattered ink on blank canvases incite melodies in my mind,

these are my secret paradise.

Straps over straps in cotton blouses 

and old blue jeanses always looks decent.

Walks in the meadows;away from the city

     where all thoughts  could be; without any interruptions

And then all the worsens  will drift away for a time

     fill the white pages of notebook

       What brazen umber eyes sees.

Was poisoned by bitter words, then poison dropped in 

          the ink                                                                                                                                                                                   now writing the devil.

In the silence of nature, where could thoughts be 

          true friends, that's where should be 

                             destinations.