It's a lasting sadness!
It over shadows all gladness.
It's constant loneliness.

It's in my voice.
It isn't by choice!

It's more than a lark.
It pains my heart!

It's perpetural anxiety.
It keeps me from sobriety.

Lost Love
Is this better than no Love?

like a whispered prayer
your touch meanders
over my fevered forehead
gentle, yet strong
through my disorientation
and delirium
it’s the only thing
that feels real
and keeps me going
for this, life seems worth living
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
        28.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Harvested perfect eggs,
of the mother to be,
are kept, in deep freeze.
enriched sperms of paid donor
(looked after well
to keep perfect fit)
are getting impatient.
the bee, fertilizer nonpareil
handpicked and hired,
fertility specialist,
didn't keep his word;
away on leave,
"pollinating vacation"
over phone, he explains,
"my last chance to
proliferate my clan,
wife is excited,
need to make it happen now
this time, of the year,
the chances are the best"
a melancholy moon, barren woman
silently weeps moonbeams
over the sparse, still thinning forest.

The best poems of mine,
were written in my heart,
only for you to read;
you forgot, where it was kept,
and left without a word.

Death, the dark, sultry maiden,
has made a pact with life-
her fickle, yet earnest lover,
in the very beginning:
"tempestuous, our passion play, would be
there isn't any other way, we could do it,
but we'll make the last dance together here-
the most subtle and infinitely sensual,
before changing over to the  stage, on the other side,
behind the impregnable curtain"

Of the racing heart,
quickening breath,
the gentle brush of lips.
Of sweet whispers,
blushing cheeks,
musical laughter.
Of cool breeze
flirting with one's hair,
soft music
ringing in one's ears.
Of quiet exchanges
of shy looks, stealthy glances,
soft embraces.
Of searching eyes,
hands that wipe away tears.
Of the beautiful paleness
of Life, like love,
subtle, yet so strong,
inconspicuous,
despite its lingering presence.
Of the Red hue
of sacrifice, of blood
and vermilion.
Of transcending boundaries.
Of dewy mornings,
glowing sunsets,
moonlit nights.
Of Love,
that walks you hand in hand
into the infinity of the Horizon
and the eternity of Time.

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.