Skip to main content

A Moment of Love

A story can be found in fugacious blossoms;
Somewhere even in the tiniest speck of time;
In the misprinted sentence lost in a book;
In the redundant whisper at the end of a song.
At times a word is all you desperately need,
Instead of a tome, and that's when you see
How beautiful one word can truly be.
The love that you find in one talking star
Can put a sky full of them to shame.
Yes, beauty is like a drug when short-lived,
And in this ephemera lies the love you deny.

Tell me, why does beauty have to last?
Why can't love come and go
Like one unforgettable spring?
Why can't you watch a flower bloom
In awe, without the fear of losing it?
Isn't transient beauty like a conscious dream
In which we choose to live and love
Knowing that morning isn't far?
How can it possibly be more bewitching?
Is it not incredible if one song can
Make you want to run and fly and swim?
Beauty and love does not have to last;
There is no such rule; there can never be.
Isn't that hauntingly mesmerizing?

Love can be that swift little wind
That comes and goes, plays with your hair,
Reminding you of a long forgotten dream,
And rekindling hope you've never tasted.
Tell me, have you ever felt that you
Have heard a certain laugh
And lived more life in the blink of an eye
Than you would in an entire lifetime?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

By The River

In the face of suffering she was longanimous. By the river she sat, embracing her agony And waited for the little boat to emerge, like The demure bee from within the beauteous petals. Her impregnable belief to see him, on the boat, Waving at her, made her roots go deep. She waited for the tides to run quiet and calm For just one day; and the skies to shine like her hope; Her young heart aged by the river, counting Ripples from every pebble she threw; but it was A river; ripples seemed to be in their usual rush. Summer changed to winter, winds turned cold; Leaves grew impatient and kissed the moist earth. She grew old waiting, but the boat was still a dream. The curtains were undulating, asking her to get up; And saying that maybe the land was too far; Or maybe the tides were too fast; The truth her eyes bled at the thought of was The boat was never destined for a homecoming; Neither was her wait destined to see an end;  Perhaps the boat...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Man Who Could Not Die

In the unnamed valley that reeked of death I met a man who couldn't die. A hundred decades he had seen, they said, And still death wasn't kind to him. I found him weeping as the sun set, Under a tree younger than him And when he heard me, he said, "Another man with a treasure." The pain in his voice hit me Harder than the lifeless wind And I asked, "What treasure Do you think I carry?" "Oh no, nothing that sparkles," he said Trying, and failing, to laugh, "But your ability to die." I sat by his side and said "People fear death On the other side of this valley, And eternal life is a fantasy." He held my hand and said, "Such a twisted dream perpetuity is; Can fool even the wisest of the wise. Things that are deathless Are the farthest from peace." I picked a dry leaf and asked, "Do you feel lonely? Every thing around you dies. You see death every day, Wishing somebody could see yours....
Post a Comment
Read more

The Pallbearer

I happen to know a common pallbearer Who mourns all deaths around him; His eyes have the wisdom you’d expect But the light in them is quite dim.  He carries corpses; he carries them everyday, And never does he ask for the name of the dead. ‘Cause someday it will be someone he knows And the name shall never escape his head. Said he once, ‘Today I carried a little girl’ ‘Seven she was, I heard them say… My daughter would be seven by now, yes, Had it not been such a bad day.’ He still believes the little girl heard His whisper, in her box so small; ‘Sleep well little girl, whoever you are, For this sleep eventually comes to us all.’ ‘Had you lived a little more, child, You would have known how the world looks. But don’t be sad, for it’s not as beautiful As they lie in your colourful books.’ The pallbearer sees an obscure face, The face of his daughter behind a veil, And a smile; The smile that pulls out tears; And the smile t...
Post a Comment
Read more