"splendent" poems - Hello Poetry

Drifting downwards on the stony hills, only to be picked up by the breeze, I can hear my lover's voice echo off on the lonely landscape. Where are you, my love? Your voice plays like a sadden tune, It sinks into the chambers of my heart. I am unsettled; I search for you aimlessly. Wisps of dark clouds form, a gush of wind picks up, I am caught in the midst of a storm. Again, distance and time conspire to separate us. Unable to see, I can hear only raucous roars of thunder and lighting. Your voice fades away. As the wretched winds push me, I try despairingly to hold on to something. The storm gently ceases. My eyes open, I see my arms wrapped around you. Two lovers lost finally come together forever. Holding hands down the paths we walk, As the splendent sun slowly sinks in the hills, a new chapter awaits where love finally blooms

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May 21, 2019

May 21, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC

Sparkles

Love Blooms

Drifting downwards on the stony hills, only to be picked up by the breeze, I can hear my lover's voice echo off on the lonely landscape. Where are you, my love? Your voice plays like a sadden tune, It sinks into the chambers of my heart. I am unsettled; I search for you aimlessly. Wisps of dark clouds form, a gush of wind picks up, I am caught in the midst of a storm. Again, distance and time conspire to separate us. Unable to see, I can hear only raucous roars of thunder and lighting. Your voice fades away. As the wretched winds push me, I try despairingly to hold on to something. The storm gently ceases. My eyes open, I see my arms wrapped around you. Two lovers lost finally come together forever. Holding hands down the paths we walk, As the splendent sun slowly sinks in the hills, a new chapter awaits where love finally blooms

15

A short sweet rain Washed clean the sky In the emerging moon's lust Glowed the splendent dust. The earth begged for a drop Said the soil "it was my call" Their joy would not stop The leaves drank them all. The rain was without might Feeble its spell was brief Yet it revived a summer night As life's succour and relief.

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Jun 18, 2013

Jun 18, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

A Brief Rain

A short sweet rain Washed clean the sky In the emerging moon's lust Glowed the splendent dust. The earth begged for a drop Said the soil "it was my call" Their joy would not stop The leaves drank them all. The rain was without might Feeble its spell was brief Yet it revived a summer night As life's succour and relief.

12

The earth might know whether the fire Beneath the hillock as a pyre Was there and kept a-smouldering Whatever burnt it with fiery sting. From morning did he slowly, oh! Acute and heavy stones below Clasp with his own holy wrath, A power ne one had ne now hath. Though he’s been slumb’ring innocently Since hundred years ago, sharply, As I had heard from my ancestors, Got furious by some evil stars. It was a foggy day of autumn, None could be seen at the bottom, Nor high above a bird to fly, Nor that hill, then calm and high. When the pale sun reached the top, Of earthly dome of clouds did rob His grandeur boldly, the rain began To curse the man with wicked plan. Till then no one conjectured what God had stored for their hapless lot, But dreamt bygone months when they Were carefree as a child and gay. Once the sun was lost in the west, Some eerie sounds from that hill-crest Began to frighten children, and their Unhappy parents uttered a prayer. One wondered if it was a rumbling Of the clouds, about to be tumbling Once again as heavier rain Upon grey mountains and verdant plain. Another heard the rustling leaves, As summer’s cool wind gently heaves. But no such things were their outside, Then must’ve in high note an infant cried. That voice, as night seemed deep and darker, Bit by bit, from grave to graver Became, and did from the hill emerge. All cravens shrieked, they shrieked, “O dirge!” All at once in mightiest blast, Liquid fire did up the crust Gush out, flash out from the earth, As if he gathered an endless mirth. Then down that splendent stone did flow With million captive crumbles, lo! The brooklet virile made its way Through forsaken woods and clay. Hearth! A hearth of our whole world That dormant knoll was like; he hurled The hallowed fire, which God alone Could gift mankind, with new adorn. What rapture did the hill derive Unburd’ning himself of newer life! And what unwavering faith had he In earth on whose lap his child would be!

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Apr 7, 2017

Apr 7, 2017 at 3:20 AM UTC

sarban-bhattacharya

The Eruption

The earth might know whether the fire Beneath the hillock as a pyre Was there and kept a-smouldering Whatever burnt it with fiery sting. From morning did he slowly, oh! Acute and heavy stones below Clasp with his own holy wrath, A power ne one had ne now hath. Though he’s been slumb’ring innocently Since hundred years ago, sharply, As I had heard from my ancestors, Got furious by some evil stars. It was a foggy day of autumn, None could be seen at the bottom, Nor high above a bird to fly, Nor that hill, then calm and high. When the pale sun reached the top, Of earthly dome of clouds did rob His grandeur boldly, the rain began To curse the man with wicked plan. Till then no one conjectured what God had stored for their hapless lot, But dreamt bygone months when they Were carefree as a child and gay. Once the sun was lost in the west, Some eerie sounds from that hill-crest Began to frighten children, and their Unhappy parents uttered a prayer. One wondered if it was a rumbling Of the clouds, about to be tumbling Once again as heavier rain Upon grey mountains and verdant plain. Another heard the rustling leaves, As summer’s cool wind gently heaves. But no such things were their outside, Then must’ve in high note an infant cried. That voice, as night seemed deep and darker, Bit by bit, from grave to graver Became, and did from the hill emerge. All cravens shrieked, they shrieked, “O dirge!” All at once in mightiest blast, Liquid fire did up the crust Gush out, flash out from the earth, As if he gathered an endless mirth. Then down that splendent stone did flow With million captive crumbles, lo! The brooklet virile made its way Through forsaken woods and clay. Hearth! A hearth of our whole world That dormant knoll was like; he hurled The hallowed fire, which God alone Could gift mankind, with new adorn. What rapture did the hill derive Unburd’ning himself of newer life! And what unwavering faith had he In earth on whose lap his child would be!

56

As your bedsheets rise and fall and your heart is skipping beats you're not lying here and I'm not watching you slowly make your way to the pearly gates clutching onto your robes When your eyes are closed you're in a field somewhere leaning on your old red car or drawing a charcoal deer across the way, sketching in her eyes with lead devotion with each rise and fall you're mimicking the sun and moon and you're alive in every field in every mountain in every patch of dandelions that I gave you, as a child as your bedsheets rise and fall and your body's shutting down and you don't see me and I don't see you know that I will take your hand. I will hold your bony fingers and squeeze your frightened wings and guide you into every meadow, every pasture, every field of splendent gold that you ever hoped to live in.

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Dec 1, 2014

Dec 1, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC

sarah-or-something

Hoped to live.

As your bedsheets rise and fall and your heart is skipping beats you're not lying here and I'm not watching you slowly make your way to the pearly gates clutching onto your robes When your eyes are closed you're in a field somewhere leaning on your old red car or drawing a charcoal deer across the way, sketching in her eyes with lead devotion with each rise and fall you're mimicking the sun and moon and you're alive in every field in every mountain in every patch of dandelions that I gave you, as a child as your bedsheets rise and fall and your body's shutting down and you don't see me and I don't see you know that I will take your hand. I will hold your bony fingers and squeeze your frightened wings and guide you into every meadow, every pasture, every field of splendent gold that you ever hoped to live in.

58