Is this but a feeling That often slowly Crawls right through you In slow motion of warmth Even a thousand miles apart Is this more than a feeling That rises sheepishly From deep within Never in expression Even if a million smiles together Is this all but a feeling That wipes clean Every smudge of
She came in, quietly at first in motion slow these little droplets, happily tired, erratic seemingly ecstatic, emotional, playful, then suddenly she leapt forth into larger voluminous ones, crystal shaped, round colourless, languid (it seemed as if) She cried effortlessly , relentlessly, intimately, then suddenly she quietened herself in disbelief, in relief ? but then
There he stands, singular Majestic and amphoral In a pure filter of white cosmic rays Holding nothing but A few branches of ecstasy (So like an eternal optimist in prelude ) Shielding nothing but A few shades of divine feelings ( so like the filtered streaks pouring in from the heavens far above ) and
Many of us have experienced , at one time or another , that state when the “me” , the self , with its aggressive demands, has completely ceased, and the mind is extraordinarily quiet, without any direct violation ,the state within. Perhaps, one may experience something that is without measure, something that is impossible to
I see through that distant prism a faint refraction of a pure indigo shun from the final coloured drops of a painters wheel of a primary bathed in Glorious glow I see beyond that optimal, in rare subtractive through the tired brushes of a finite artist’s real sublimity sitting alone, stranded by the sea, sketching
I sit quietly In patient tryst, As I inhale joyous insentient sticks Burning round circles of mystic charm, And awaiting that faint sweet aromatic aroma Of a quaint French red wine God sent, To quench my stifling thirst (And here I figit and shuffle In my firm seat of disbelief and impatience ) And the
Can I ever feel The soft texture of that salubrious soul Dipped in infinite feel, As if, I knew her long Many years past Can I ever touch Blurred images Of a forgotten capsule, Merged in fond memories Of a distant dream,held Many years past Can I ever sense That faint fond fragrance Wrapped in
No more is she The mother of our souls Who gave up something more Than her lonely pain In shielded joy , limitless Watching time fly by slowly, Year upon year, From her laced curtain windows, Sitting quietly by Waiting for the return Of her three children No more is she The mother of our
I saw A hazy envelope Like many million dew drops Laced in loaded fantasies, Dancing static in the distance, In slow motion, erratic, as many decaying memories Fading , stripping, Slipping past blank monotonous time stood stoically static. then, In a sudden burst this white mystical mystique delicately shielding this jagged coastline and many broken
I see her Every morn as I whizz past Noida Express wide… Smiling golden Swaying in full freedom Of her joyous existence, I feel her, In crazy abandon Of her fiery spell I spy her, in slow motion of nothingness A thousand frames Of standstill she waves gallant In the sunshine of her infinite happiness…
