You never really know what’s coming,
a small wave, a big one.
Life is surprising,
because someone came along.

With every crash of a wave,
the stress is washed away.
Every minute spent with you,
I have faced the earth, brave.

The day arrived when I had to wear my veil,
a beautiful white lace of purity.
This day embarks us to set sail,
of our moments of gentle charity.

It may be inevitable,
for the high tides to drown us away.
Let’s not make our impulses irrevocable.
Together we can fight the days of gray.

Waves don’t die,
same as my love for you.
Look at the sky,
the stars shine for me and you.

.
Patches of grass spot the hill,
Interspersed are old stones
Wind blown, like bones
Buried deep in the sun.

Wildflowers are crowding
There too, scorching bloom
In desolation, windy blown,
Sacred as any high tomb.

Crows circle above, waiting
For new soiled dreams to end,
I watch them from a shy window
Cold as the hill stones, remaining.

Across the sky is a blaze of scintillating gold
When the dawn quietly begins to unfold
Each morn is a fresh wonder
As the night willfully bows down to surrender

Every minute is a novel creation
With scenes and sights of great sensation
With every passing hour, new vistas unfold
Bringing insights varied and visions manifold

The blades of grass glow in sparkling dew
As the sun makes his customary march anew
Over the expanse of the brightening sky
Feathered folks to different directions fly

Here and there is many a plant in bloom
That dispels all clouds of graying gloom
Bees hum round opening flowers
Squirrels come out from their hidden covers

The gust of breeze that blows over
Brings scents so sweet in the morning air
The mountains that tower so high
In grandeur seem to touch the sky

The cuckoo and the magpie sing in joy
Their nestlings have nothing to annoy
The cascading falls sound the stringed trumpet
Running down from the mount’s heady summit

As Nature thus pipes a thousand songs
In capturing sounds and melodious tunes
In my heart is born a heavenly melody
      That I shall pour out in euphonious rhapsody

A weaver of words in deep quiet reflects
In his mind’s prism, many a thought deflects
Within him the rainbow colours of passion rage
      He scripts songs of beauty and rhyme on page after page

      He has no magic, neither erudite nor clever
But hungry souls, his poems avidly devour
Stirring their hearts as wind on whispering leaves
And each line, some alluring fancy weaves

As from pen to paper his fancies flow
In a lingua that has an unusual glow
Though a great epic may not be born
His songs move even hearts of flint n’ stone

He sings the paeans of love and life
Of men in cross roads of toil and strife
He awakens dead worlds long forgotten
Taking us to magic lands never trodden

      His songs have echoes of a heavenly rhapsody
Drowning the Earth in flooding melody
Fuelling hearts with thoughts one cannot name
Spawning tempestuous passions one cannot tame

When sleep eludes me at night
And my mind floats aimless
Like a sail boat idle on the sea
When on my bed I lie staring vacant
At the pale moon that gleams,
A medley of sounds falls in my ears

I hear the chirp of cicadas, the screech of bats
The hooting of owls, the flutter of moths
The staccato notes of the crickets
And the shrill sonorous music of grass hoppers

Among these and the silent music of the stars
The one sound that delights me most
Is the sound of the whistling Thrush
Her loud song cuts through the air
And mingles with the soft hush of leaves

Hidden in the blanket of darkness
I am not privileged to see this beryl bird
To me, a Goddess of enchantment n’ magic
Sometimes like a sweet secret
She emerges from the depth of a ravine
Sometimes she hides in the leafy coverage
Of a nearby poplar tree
Always she starts with a hesitant whistle
As though rehearsing her own art
However gaining confidence
And happy over her trial attempt
She soon bursts forth into 'full throated' song
Creating such sweet vibes of warm feeling
And producing in me an instant healing

Nay, she sets my soul on fire
And swallows me whole
Creating in me an eternal longing
To hear her pour out that celestial melody
Sitting in some far fringe of Heaven
To make me lose myself within myself
And slosh my soul in mad ecstasy!

there's a definite skill in tugging strings
marionette controllers understand these things*
cords of manipulation pulled left and right
to keep each puppet working for his might

a deftness of tasking beyond compare
this capability he'll show with much dare
an accent always being on the wire's desire
as to how he'd like his wooden figures to fire

we marvel at the maestro's astute vigour
in employing his expert's toggling rigour
commanding all the dolls by ace orchestration
*he's a supreme professional of the vocation