Something fades on this dying landscape
Is it a glow worm or bonfire?
Perhaps a soul or just the tip of a cigar
Each night someone burns to live
Each day someone always departs
Once more a day has come
Not Monday or Tuesday just a day
Unadorned: unaware
Leaving queries unanswered
Once more gone is the day
Like the half un-drunk glass of red tea on a tray
My soul was the sole witness
Of their incarnation into wild
No norms: No canon
Just the measureless chase of prey
Just the swaying leonine mane
Just the lick of nature on our face
And we the worm from eagle’s beak to chick’s mouth
Though the owl of Minerva no longer flies over this land
White dove turns red
This land harbour no regret
Wildly fresh..as ever..
I chose to be here forever...
......the classical beauty of poems lies in your poem...we should never erode its quality just for the sake of writing poems...
ReplyDeleteI know the rest of the world can feel the difference between your poems and the rest...Your poem signifies that a poem or literature is not merely a arrangement or a re-arragemnet of words or phrase.
You may need to walk thousand miles to write a poem or u just need to feel the pain of a dying second...keep writing...
see you in the evening...let me also walk some extra miles for today...for a future of lone "ME".