My reflection
swayed the tides to mutiny
I myself could
muster only a few ripples
My shadows climbed
walls as I trudged
On the oft beaten
paths that rooted towers
Like the seed
that mingles in the dust
Weaves a song
in the cloud scraping nest
The Master who
spurs the stride of the sprinter
Himself applauds
from the wooden stands
The splinter
that sparks a dazzling fire
Itself gets charred
black within the flame
The devotees
proper by chants in some fashion
Their God stays
beyond all the worldly affluence
Such is the emotion
that ignites dreams
But remains dormant
in unrequited love.
Delhi
22.48 hrs
2146
8.5.24
No comments:
Post a Comment