Staring at the ceiling in dark
Missing ur eyes full of spark..
Was ur eyes something in which I got lost..
I want ur gaze maybe at any cost
Swelled up eyes like the rasin in water
Almost drowned in the sea of melancholy
Am I still waiting for someone who can heal...
Someone who can see the things I have conceal..!
Past maybe heart wrenching..
But present is still here to feel alive
Eyes are the ocean in which all poets choose to dive
The one who dives completely in that ocean of eyes.
Would be the one to see the reason behind all those messy lies!
The mess is just like the moon that is still beautiful.. Even when its crescent...
In the end, its all about learning from past and living in present...!
In a brown study
he's tethered to memories
sweet and strikingly vivid.
A prolonged respite
sought in the warmth of her arms;
Several nights under the moon
Lost in remembrance
without the conscience of time;
moment as precious as gold!
Date written: 11/22/2020
I have a room.
My room makes me elated
as it is jam-packed with all manners
of goodness that make life tick.
I have a table,right in that room.
The table,very often,
gets me into a brown study.
It also houses a great number of books of old.
This this,which has gotten off my neck,
the yoke of ignorance.
Once,given to me by Rahla,
an aged fellow,is an old lamp.
Rahla lives down the lane.
This lamp lights up my table
and then my room.
Suddenly, brightness creeps in
like the day's shinning sun.
A once void and gloomy room
beams with glory.
Up on my table,is a lamp.
PORTRAIT – Female with wine
She’s looking off, chin lifted -
Some afternoon reverie –
This full-faced blue-eyed blond dreamer
A slim-stemmed glass of red is prominent, but barely sipped
Her expression (the redness in her eyes) is
Well not a brown study but surely not bliss
No I’m guessing this musing has some soul-lingering favor –
A lover?
A loved one departed?
There is a certain intensity
A relaxed…fat preponderance
Her elbows on the table at rest
Arms, fingers cradling
Her long, flaxen hair sits atop both shoulders with a certain…
With flowing sophistication
Hope?
No.
More a doting resignation
“When the loving flame dies
Smoke”
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