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More Poems
Naughty Sparrow In Search of Peace Listening to the echoes Distance and Glory The Effect Playful Relation Shiva's Dance The Corner Fresh Offering Second Meeting The One Thing The Magic Drop The Staircase Basic Desire The Party The Wait Doll's House Tidbits New Poems Poetry Section More Poems... |
Beauty of Nature
Morning As moonlight bade goodnight kiss the dew alighted on tender leaves, sun-rays played hide and seek with the shadows of silent trees. Afternoon was uneventful. Evening As I became aware of oceanic roar a deafening thunder pierced the ear; raging rain beat drums on the roof nature was with me that stormy night. Late night Impulsive feet took to rhythmic dance encircling the vastness of milieu interior, the jingles from those mystic anklets merged with the silence of parting sob. -- The Darkness Deep down the lane darkness prevails as a cover for those thieves of emotions. The circuit is closed here with no escape in sight; it's a tunnel without the legendary ray of light. I encountered history here in my nightmarish dreams; the chapter being written with the blue of human ink. The quest for excellence suffocates in blind alley. Like a trapped cocoon mediocrity rules the roost. -- Previous | Next |
The Party
Crumpled napkins and empty plates, half-eaten leftovers and entangled forks, tin of coke waiting for its turn, and more, the tell tale sign that the party is over. The coat that hung in the corner-stand shifts its locus to the drooping shoulder, the tie is loosened as the fellow stumbles, the tell tale sign that the party is over. The lady is less concerned about her looks, as weariness sets in, in her eyes and limbs, forgetful of with whom she had partnered, the tell tale sign that the party is over. We are invited to this Grand Opera, the symphony interrupted by a discordant note, as the Last Visitor knocks at the door, the tell tale sign that the party is over. -- A Call of the Mountains He has stationed himself at ten thousand feet, high over a peak in the Himalayas, his call echoes and reechoes deep down the valley... I heard his call, a faint whisper, like a mother speaking to her newborn babe, or the morning sun nudging a sleeping bird. It forced me to remove the boulders, fill the potholes, straighten the pass, and ascend towards his temple - The serpentine path, now six feet wide but still ten thousand feet long, carries me over a horseback, my ears try to listen to his voice, his folklore, drowned in the noise of tourists' chat. -- all poems by c s shah
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