Minds of every shape and size, unknowing
Had played an impossible game—vanquished
in the end,
And burned like that playful moth, flying,
Round and round the flame. And there was of course
Winged Icarus, falling from his sun—just the same.
Because there it is whence Love’s magic arises:
In the ashes of the most insane, not the wisest.
H aven for those who’s words are never read
E ven though they pour their souls and very
L ives and spirit through their pens or
L et their fingers nurture beautiful tomorrows
O n the keyboards of their creativity.
P oetry is the blood that pumps
O ut wondrous magic from those fertile minds that
E nds up on a glowing screen or printed page, in hopes
T hat it can give birth to a long awaited
R ennaissance in the thinking of the world, and create a
Y earning for a better way to live and love.
P erhaps it’s time to scribble down a word or two,
E ven though I have nothing cogent to proclaim.
N evertheless the urge is one that must be answered to.
O nce a long, long time ago the words poured forth, but
N ow the well has seemingly gone dark and dry.
P ossibly the act of touching pen to empty pages-
A s an act of penance for strangling the muse of
P oesy in a knotted, convoluted scarf of dreariness- will
E nable what was meaningful so long ago to finally
R ecover and deliver something worthwhile once again.
बोदोर जायो फुंबिलिनि
ओँखार बोनाय साननि सोरांजोँ
थं गसंना मुलुगखौ नायहरै नायहरै
ओंखार बोनाय हाजोनि निज्राबादि
रोमै रोमै दैसा गाथोनाव रोजाबनो
नेनानै थानांगौ जानाय जिउनि मेथाइ
इनायनो रैसुमै बोथोरनि मेथाइ
एसेबांदि बोदोर जायो आंहा बिरदावनो
थाथिरनाय गैयै गोसोआव बाज्लखांनाय
आरो बेसेबांदि लुबैनाय दं जिउआव
इनायनो गोबां गोगो आरो गोथार