Saturday, 31 December 2011

Untitled 3

You are as distant as the last morning star,
which flees before dawn sets on her wings.
And as ephemeral as a fresh dew drop
resting on a tiny blade of grass, which slips
well before the golden sun
has had a chance to look at her.

Your eyes do seem like endless oceans,
whose emarald depths I drink deep;
and refreshed and rested
my heart finds comfort.
And your voice like the song of the sea,
lulls me further into enchantment.
Your touch like velvet
plays havoc with my mind.
Your sight to behold
is better than Paradise,
your gaze: more uplifting than wine.

Your beauty is dream-like
subtle and changing
which cannot be named
or otherwise stated.
What cunning do you hide,
what spells do you chant ?
My mind cant fathom,
bewitched and numb,
by wonder and love:
I must follow like a moth to fire:
Death is more aggreeable than distance.

Saturday, 24 December 2011

Author's Notes

These are my notes on my poem "Moon in the Lake"

Verse I


The rainbow mirage
 has floated away in light.
Darkness hides from splendid sunbeams.
What is, and what is not ?
Appearances are poor mirrors of truth.

I  have used the word 'rainbow' for the mirage of life, for a true mirage is not monochromatic or static.It is a fluttering wave,ever new, ever different. Each person percieves this mirage in a different way, adds his or her own colour to it.That is why I call it a rainbow, multicolored, multifaceted.This mirage works at many levels, and many directions, a unique illusion for everyone.And that is a part of the success of the illusion.If everyone percieved it in a similar manner, then sooner or later everyone would realize it. But everyone has their own worlds, everyone is 'playing their own game', everyone is engaging in their own foolishness.And to be frank, the word just popped up in my mind, 'rainbow mirage' and I saw that it made sense.I seldom make any effort to find words or lines.

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

The Moon in the Lake.

The rainbow mirage
has floated away in light.
Darkness hides from splendid sunbeams.
What is, and what is not ?
Appearances are poor mirrors of truth.

The shadow of the moon in placid water,
is nothing but a lie of great beauty;
for Men have set feet on the heavens,
but who has found-
the moon in the heart of the lake?
All the world is a stage,
Or so the old poet sang;
Forced smiles and fake tears,
answer the demands of the audience.
The cold and sharp blade of truth,
has but few takers.

This is a company of fools,
a parade of fleeting glamor.
This is the age of paper tulips,
paper words, paper hearts.
I do not see faces but only masks,
and what is worse I am one.