THE LAST LOVE LETTER OF TCHAIKOVSKY*

My angel,  life of my life
Fate would never allow me to meet thee
Only in thy letters to me
Do I feel the touch of love’s ecstasy.

Would but that upon thy sweet face
I would  just once behold
All my sixth symphonies I would gladly exchange
In love’s name and in its wondrous beauty untold.

Here with all my rapturous kisses
I send thee the music of ‘Love’s Sorrow’
Every note swims in the sea of my restless heart
None would such grievous pain of mine ever know.

Let history judge
All that is between thee and me
Even the deluge that drowns the whole world
Would never obliterate every melody I dedicate to thee.

• Tchaikovsky’s benefactress was Madame Von Meck  (Nadezhda) who exchanged 260 love- letters (1876—1887)with him and endowed him with a regular income on the understanding that they should never meet.
Her late  husband was a millionaire whose fortune was derived from  his railway business.
Finally, she broke up the relationship leaving the composer in complete  devastation.
This is one of the most poignant love-stories of all time.

' LESS'
A little word
So easy to express
It's simply called
' Less'.

Just one word
Makes my life's strongest fortress
With none to strive
I have none to impress

MATTER OF THE HEART

Have you forgotten
Where you have placed your heart?
Days drift away like passing clouds
They appear and too soon they part.

Why have you neglected your heart?
Are you too hardened to feel anymore?
Are you afraid of the past
Or tears you shed before?

Has your heart wandered
To where it doesn't belong?
To the unknown wilderness
Devoid of happy human voice or merry bird-song?

It's never too late to welcome
Your  heart home -you it does miss sadly
And longs to be held in your warm ***** once more
There shall be no goodbye this time--love is for eternity.

LIFE IN A NUTSHELL

What had been done
Can't be undone
What had not been done--
Temps perdu--can't be done.

Life in a nutshell is about
Doing or not -doing--verily-
Being or not-being
Forget all the high-sounding insipid philosophy.

APOCALYPSE

Civilisation will sleep
in time's graveyard
there's too much hatred
bad blood that would split
every artery and vein asunder
when the human heart
could feel no more
when reason has been
swept away by the soulless indifferent wind
and nights are but the ghosts
of anguish and perdition
when dreams are hellish nightmares
and sleep is but a trail
of torturous afflictions
when peace has bidden farewell
and hopes have sunk
into abysmal oblivion

what is left
and what is there to be lived for?

now in this grimmest hour
darker than the silent grave
rises only spectre's head
ugly, ominous , relentless and revengeful

this then is the apocalypse -
the world has lost its sight
splendour and beauty
and in every corner of earth
a signboard will be found
bearing the name : Dead