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Posts Tagged ‘art’

It’s winter and there is cold breeze through the leaves
Hidden in the fog like a myth that will uncover soon;
and bells ringing on temples of ancient gods whom I know,
and hymns filled in the walls of my ear that pray the moon.
Does it all change? Does the face of innocence still glow?

There are flowers of the night still lying on my earth;
There are feathers that tossed in glory and filled the sky.
It’s not a tale, it’s not a night gone by and hours so slow;
A cult of colossal war hymn silenced by love and loss
That echoes between two mountains and like river flow
Into the ocean of life, to be born again to die and cross.

Between ignorance and ego all battles are fought forever;
Between the clever minds, the heart succumbs and shiver
with attempts to admire its own tale of honest moments.
There plays the violin by the sea side, there plays the flute;
There dance is frozen like an iceberg, and an artist paints
Like colours are eternal on this canvas of time together.

If a war can end with words, I will write in love more;
Than take shields of sorrow or settle on the shore.
My verse isn’t vast, but will fill the emptied soul of yours,
When your reason leaves you like a phoenix of course.

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Sand and stone flakes join and move fast into the eyes of time.
There is much music, the same ancient air that touched the genius.
I will not talk about the empire of gold that is dead, doesn’t rhyme
To our today, nor will pass to coming times with reason or rehearse.
It’s the same waves that touch the land of immortal art, of infinite
Life that segues through the rocks, through the music cast on stone.

There are percussions of chiseled moments, there is a known gloom,
When you stand before the Chariot of Sun with seven white horses
With wings of life, so ready for the flight and spring of life to bloom.
Sculpted emotions on these stones like a bouquet of eternal roses
Stand through the time, to reach every soul, to guide every journey.

I stand not like a saint but with infant steps, trying to feel the stone,
Feel the flakes, the wind from the sea that fills my vision and my soul.
To hear aloud the songs of my countrymen, touch the fabric of our own.
Like love, art too stands free, only eyes change and feel they hold it all.
If I could stay witness forever and tell this story to all lives that live;
This light that burns our ignorance, and endures more love to give.

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The sea was unquiet, when we met under the late moon;
And there was enough water to heal our tired feet,
For we took the journey no one else could have thought.
We loved, we kissed, and we stood with time, bravely fought
With hope that stands like the lantern in the temple street,
Where more than our faces we see our own shadows grow.

Someday, freedom will bring you to read these lines, to live
All that I ever dreamt, you will absorb when my heart sings.
Like swans meet in this blue water, often touched by the wind.
I will love you for I have a fearless heart that crossed the rings
Of tradition, that doesn’t count more, and teachers who will give
A reason to beat for our heart, a light to guide our ancient soul.

We will remain away, and we will remain truly but in love,
We will live the remaining props that will save our worlds.
We will breathe and eat suppers and drink with tears tossed.
And time shall pass, springs and autumns will cross the worlds
That we built in ignorance, to make us free like a loving dove.

I announce you not my friend, nor muzzled in a mad menace
Of the storm that shall pass, but in the gold gulped glory
That I love you so much and can stand the long winter in grace.
It’s not a Troy we dreamt, nor a family of crowded story.
We will meet soon beyond the clouds, beyond the cold moon.
Death is just a breath that will make everything meaningless.

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Alone when I stand and see these pages
Of faces with sweat and surging brows
At the crossroad, in the crowd, in hedges
Of crimson cast sky and a brazen desire;
Shadow to shadow neither differs more
Nor instinct succumbs to serene pledges.
Why bother about the river that will flow?
Why stammer when the hymns are low?

Swan to swan will pass on the streak;
For sorrow is like a grounded freak,
At the crossroad, in the crowd, in hedges
Only apparitions and myths of Greek
Stand like a new Troy is about to break.
The shields are dead, the swords wrapped
Now in the creepers of cold memories.

A pasture so green, so greatly laid
Wih a blanket covered in burgeoning blue;
See the corns and grains in gold swaying
For long like hands of the old soulmate.
Not become timber nor dead like glue
That sticks lifeless lips, no hymn will wait.

Let the poets come and all words settle,
The verse is so old but lives forever.
Man to man will meet not in dark battle,
But with eyes of the eternal dreamer.
I am not away, not beside, not far,
Not God on the tower so white and tall,
But in you I reside, I am the dreamer.

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Upon a rock so grey I sit and sander my bones
To stand again erect with a heart full of verse
To play long the desires that I dare to feel.
I am human, so will be deaf in anguished tones,
And blind in the dunes of deserts in traverse.

I am born again and again like a holy gyre
Churning elements that elude and still eager
To find essence in what is undone for ages.
Someday, somewhere when am old and retire,
These verses will leave me not but stand
Like a firm soul among the citadel of rages.

A poet is not a paltered piece like the rest
That flickers away with time, but does inspire
Grungy Genres that have lost faith and admire
History so great and guzzled in our books,
So wrongly written with wrath or unseen fire.
I will look high up to every soldier’s crest,
And with valour shall declare this war over.

My men beleaguered under the blue moon
Will someday find a meaning to live and love.

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