Monday, May 12, 2008
Some one is trying to play, the mandolin of the mind;
When the deft fingers touch the strings of the heart,
A tone suppressed in tears, emanate from its haggard look.
And the staggering mind is retreating…Forsaken dusk!
Even the waxy moonlight appears to you as the burning summer.
And, spectacular vistas of spring, as sad rainy days.
The woeful heart, in an impeded wobble, tick feebly.
You became a singing bird, with wounded wings,
Flying queasy, through the gloom.
The bangles of the wind ceased to tinkle, and
Spring diverted its path, evading to brush
Mascara on her delightful eyelashes.
Unattained aspirations, wept in the chariot of rainbows.
Through millions of rebirths, we have been seeking
Frantically, for each other, and still our desires are unquenched.
Are you now a peddler, selling dreams and tears to me?