Winter woods

Lonesome tree, withering in winters, almost dead, beneath that misty grey shroud, surviving with summer in its heart and sighing with h...

Friday, June 28, 2019

Transliterations

These poems are simply
a hesitating attempt,
to define the
sheer seduction
and pure bewilderment
of the abstract,
(the fresh crisp winds,
the gold floating on rivulets,
the crown glittering on Dhauladhars,
the soft covers of blue skies,
the flawless arch of rainbows,
the mesmerizing cadence of life,
this palette encompassing every hue);
translations
of intangible perceptions;
a modest effort at most,
to capture the essence,
of raw beauty
in these instantaneous transliterations;
random lyrical expressions,
couple of words juxtaposed,
in proper meteric form,
to allow a basic rhythmic structure.
Oh! These poems are
nothing but
the words flowing,
creating puddles of melodies,
in the faint hope that someday
birdsongs will breath life in them.



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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.