Pandora's box...

A music emanating from stones,
A flaring beam of light, in darkness.
An oasis found too late for the wearied soul,
That stumbled and limped through gloom.

Why should the sky be aware of the agony
Of a bird that lost its wings in flight?
What is the need for a garden to express
Compassion in the angst of a blossom,
Whose petals have wilted, scorched and withered?
Is there anyone in this earth, who has ever realized
The truth of human life, and its mysterious ways?

These are like the way of the eagle in the air;
The way of a serpent on a rock;
And the way of a ship in the midst of the sea;
Unable to comprehend and profess!
Our earth is rotating on its axis and revolving
Around the sun, always in fixed orbits;

Like dawns, like dusks
The human lives are infinitesimal as births
And rebirths occur in its natural ways.
Who remains in this earth having understood
The vagaries and complexities of birth?
It still remains and stands out as a riddle!

For you…

When the feather touch of your fingers
Dab my moist cheeks, sitting near me.
My soul always inundate with the nectar you accord.
The lurid radiance you breed in my mind with your love
Immerse me in the timid dreams I own,

The couplet, I write to day comprise the moods and sentiments
Of the soft, selfless, sacred love you have for me.
Let it come out as a song, a prelude, an overture
An aria, a rhythm and the symphony may fill the universe,
With the harmony, of its cadence...

The smile, like buds bursting into flowers,
On your bejeweled lips, are always
Spreading, its fragrance, in my imagination.

If perchance, we could never meet again in our life,
While pursuing the unknown regions of our survival,
I implore you to keep your tears unshed
In the memory of an unfulfilled, incomplete
Idyllic correlation of our love, existed within us.

Through births and rebirths my mind is seeking you,
To make you my eternal soul mate;
Among the droplets sustained in that deep blue sky,
And in the emerald depths of the roaring ocean,
In the dew sodden radiance of the moonlight,
In the miraculous glee of a blooming bud,
My psyche is rifling through, to reach you.
No one can croon a lullaby to the memories
Of life, which squirms in the spirit.