Showing posts with label ripples of a brook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ripples of a brook. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Obsessions of a life time...



I feel I am embracing you, when I touch
The soft petals of a blossom;
And sense your tender love in
The splendour of the moonlight;
Your eyes are sparkling stars of the heavens
Shimmering when you are beside me;
Your mind overwhelms with your fondness,
As the bluish sky, with its fathomless depth,
My heart sizzles with the untamed waves
Of the sea, while your countenance
Reflects in the ripples of a tiny brook.

It’s your tears that lurk in the dew drops of the morn;
Your enamouring smile, I see in the jasmine bunches.
The hue of my dreams, are splendors of the rainbow;
The fragrance is that, you poured in my reminiscence.
The pining spring you caused to burgeon in my life,
I remorsefully recollect, benumbs my senses,
While I sit in the closed chamber of my retreat;
And touch the rain drops, through the open window.
I feel the frustration, for the lost specks of your love,
Which once adhered on the tips of my fingers,
That flew away now from me, in the wind.
The pale sky of the evening fills sadness in the mind.
In the gloom of the night, that dismay is writing
On my soul, with the black ink of my destiny.
Again a hope is kindling the flame of
My life, expecting you back into my life.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

A robot...



Will the thirst in the heart be quenched,
By merely looking into each other’s eyes?
Is it possible to suppress all the longing
Of the youth, and contain them
Only in the hungry looks, which are exchanged?

What is the use of the pollen in a flower,
If the butterflies and the flower remain aloof?
Why is the honey kept in the flower,
If it is not around with its proboscis?

Life is the branch of a tree, where
Small dreams roost to rest in the night.
You came in my life like the soft ripples
Of a brook silently , but with quaint whispers
And smile and a song cheerfully;
Caressed the scorching shores of my dreams
Moistened it with your life and embraced it.
Inebriated like an earthen pot drenched
With the wine of your passion, kept inside;
Gave me handful flowers of dreams, but all
Made with papier-mâché, that could not
Share even a speck of pollen from it!
What ever I saw in the chariot of my dreams
Were images made of clay and were not real,
But replicas of House of Wax idols.
My sweetest imaginations hovered around that figure.
Flattered, she drifted from me smiling treacherously.
I discerned that those sculptures lacked
The heart and soul and was a robot, then.