Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Every piece of stone had wings,
Long, long ago, in the Stone Age.
Dreams clad in anklets also
Were having their own tiny wings.
Leaves used to fly, like dreams
And the earth was in the prime of youth.
Flowers became fairies in splendour,
And rivers became beloveds;
Butterflies used to love the blossoms
And waves loved the streams.
The paramour worshipped the beloved earth
Who was the flower of the flowers
And the river of the rivers.
There came a day, when the wings of the stones
Were hacked away, by the jealous Creator.
Thus the flowers were forsaken
And the streams grief stricken...
They are, the dreary tears of the stones
In desolation, that flows out through streams,
Striving, to reach the river, at last.
The flowers still keep vigil from dawn to dusk;
For the butterflies to come and embrace them,
And take away the nectar, through the kiss of a lover.