Broken Love
My heart have lost the savour of your smile
and the sky has lost its heaven.
Blindly I trample on wild flowers, a rogue elephant
with no sense of beauty.
A mariner who sails on an enchanting ocean,
but only see his iron cage… prisoner of gloom.
Chains of love broken; a freedom not wanted.
life’s only purpose was you and I
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
फ्राग्मेंट ऑफ़ अ दरें
Fragments of a Dream
Azure waves, white froth dries on sandy shore of
oblivion. Timeless whispering of fate, for no ears
but mine. A black hulled scallop, on nature’s canvas,
skull & cross bone banner. Pale is the sky, a vague
shimmer disappears behind the horizon of awareness
as transient kites flutter, held by weakening hands.
The breeze sighs of nothingness.
Azure waves, white froth dries on sandy shore of
oblivion. Timeless whispering of fate, for no ears
but mine. A black hulled scallop, on nature’s canvas,
skull & cross bone banner. Pale is the sky, a vague
shimmer disappears behind the horizon of awareness
as transient kites flutter, held by weakening hands.
The breeze sighs of nothingness.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
फ्रॉम तस्मानिया विथ लव
From Tasmania with Love
The wind is a whisper, bell hard evergreen leaves
softly clank as shifting light caresses the landscape.
I saw a film clip of the last Tasmanian tiger, the film
was shot in 1936, the beast looked like a striped,
dog and it has now disappeared into the landscape
of dreams. But wait! A stirring amongst the bushes,
a golden streaked animal is watching me and it isn’t
a pussy cat. The sky darkens, light temporarily fades,
there is a deep silence, birds have stopped singing.
Portugal is very far from Tasmania, but I know what
I saw, or was it a sunbeam dancing on yellow straw?
The wind is a whisper, bell hard evergreen leaves
softly clank as shifting light caresses the landscape.
I saw a film clip of the last Tasmanian tiger, the film
was shot in 1936, the beast looked like a striped,
dog and it has now disappeared into the landscape
of dreams. But wait! A stirring amongst the bushes,
a golden streaked animal is watching me and it isn’t
a pussy cat. The sky darkens, light temporarily fades,
there is a deep silence, birds have stopped singing.
Portugal is very far from Tasmania, but I know what
I saw, or was it a sunbeam dancing on yellow straw?
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
हेअर्त ache
The Heartache
You have gone to a jungle of sadness, into the wilderness
of confused love. Where tigers’ claws are poisoned, snakes
twist the truth and scorpions have stings of envy.
I can’t follow you, I have no machete, or an armoured suit
to protect myself against devious tongues.
My world is naïve sunlight, the open plain, where nothing
is hidden in dark corners of my mind. Come to my world
and I’ll meet you in the glade where Spanish bluebells chime
and we will go to the mountain’s sweet fountain and see
the birth of rainbows.
You have gone to a jungle of sadness, into the wilderness
of confused love. Where tigers’ claws are poisoned, snakes
twist the truth and scorpions have stings of envy.
I can’t follow you, I have no machete, or an armoured suit
to protect myself against devious tongues.
My world is naïve sunlight, the open plain, where nothing
is hidden in dark corners of my mind. Come to my world
and I’ll meet you in the glade where Spanish bluebells chime
and we will go to the mountain’s sweet fountain and see
the birth of rainbows.
Monday, November 23, 2009
थे सिरें ऑफ़ sighs
The Siren of Sighs.
How mystic the Caribbean ocean is, ebony sea with white
crests slapping the hull of the ship; and the mermaid’s voice
is a sweet wordless whisper, but I do understand her well.
Alone on wooden deck, on a ship of yore, she invites me to
embrace her and she will bring me to an island, in the middle
of Saragossa Sea, meet old friends and talk about the days
when ship had more shapely wood than hard unbending iron,
to make them beautiful. But the moon is full and stars fill
the heavens with wonder, tomorrow we will dock in Kingston,
Jamaica, so my old friends, on the island of dreams, will have
to wait a little longer
How mystic the Caribbean ocean is, ebony sea with white
crests slapping the hull of the ship; and the mermaid’s voice
is a sweet wordless whisper, but I do understand her well.
Alone on wooden deck, on a ship of yore, she invites me to
embrace her and she will bring me to an island, in the middle
of Saragossa Sea, meet old friends and talk about the days
when ship had more shapely wood than hard unbending iron,
to make them beautiful. But the moon is full and stars fill
the heavens with wonder, tomorrow we will dock in Kingston,
Jamaica, so my old friends, on the island of dreams, will have
to wait a little longer
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)