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Love blooms
like a rose
eternally beautiful.

Lazy days
of wonderment
betrayed by age.

Beauty remains
as time passes
fades, then decays.
Adithya Gowda Oct 2014
Bathed in silver moonlight,
Falsely reassured by unwavering stillness,
My eyes open to a place left behind,
Where I lie gurgling; uncomprehending.
Where my infancy fell and I learned to walk.
And I watch now, curiously; uncomprehending
The scene that forms in my eyes.

Adolescence is seen stealing the previous throne
With bribes of new emotion and mischief
And flows into my entire childhood
A river come under rule of the sea.
And I watch uncomprehending; distant from
The boy that once climbed trees.

Trees wither as Autumn comes; shed leaves
And I drift through space and time
Not watching the clock; free.
The young adult is in a palace of smoke
Wandering through echoing halls
Trying to reach the throne.
The sea.

And when the doors open, debility
Comes creeping; hair white as the snow, beneath my feet.
I see shattered limbs running away
From demons underneath.

The present tugs at me; my worried spouse.
And away I go, from the newborn; ignorant,
Watching day and night embrace; two halves of one
Locked in a dying embrace, afraid to let go

And even now, mortality
An essential nightmare still grips me; a devious fiend
Hiding behind the impassive, unyielding
Father time.
K Balachandran Sep 2014
On the lower rung of the ladder she stands wide eyed,
that ambiguous smile on her lips and my yearning
has a mysterious kinship, with the mysteries of the semi-lit attic,
I could discern from the bits and pieces she revealed
with that sly look as we walked  hand in hand
through the garden path as slowly as we can.
The ladies in the neighborhood would stand in groups
and look curiously at us as we walk, a sight rare in the village
where movement in thickets were the symbol of unspeakable pleasures!
A shy boy and a girl unusually bold; no demure Indian girl she is!
"See how she leads the boy, knows how to play her tune, so well
sometimes I spy the pair  stand together at
the mouth of that dark cave, contemplating mysteries perhaps"
overhearing their words, I would cast eyes down as if guilty.

Beyond the uppermost rung of the ladder, is the attic
I haven't seen it yet, but she is a girl and a woman in one
who could see far beyond a boy's ken, she acts her age
what her nail marks etched on my skin  is the map of her desires.
In our stealthy expeditions through winding paths my lungs
get filled with feminine smells that are intense in certain times,
our feet become slow and stop without prompt at shaded corners
scented by musky orchid blooms, where blue beetles
hum amorous tunes, then  longing takes many forms of expressions.

She knew the art of looking in to my heart,
through the peep holes of eyes, then I hear her whisper as if possessed,
"You are full of sweet poetry, it's beats permeate to my body
when I hold you closer to my *****, but you need me to make it loud"
In the dark attic where the  scent of  black pepper and dry ginger raged
she kept her promise, her lips caressed mine,with such urgency
my eyes involuntarily, close  tightly and I hear her murmurs
it was her way of bringing out my inner poetry, making it flow out
such subtle power it had, we rolled uncontrollably on the floor,
when we did we sighed together, plunging in to a wonder moment.
Matthew Durci May 2014
Why do we cling to the questions that bear no answer?
Why do we push away the one's we care for?
Why do we live free, but die slaves?
Why is this life, not enough?
Why am I not enough?

— The End —