Posts Tagged ‘lake’

There are enough trumpets to blow
In this forlorn land of muses;
Enough lyrics stand idle to be sought
And ancient rhythms of melody flow.
There is no crowd of solitude here
And no wandering eyes moaning.
There is no dream here to come
And no thought to end with tear.

Emptied hearts and burdened souls
Now fill the curtains and not rise
From the trivial tests of fate.
I have seen a fiddler in the meadow
Now having stood for long to play
And journey with my eternal song.
And a pianist with shivering fingers
Beside the lake filled with Mozart,
Stands unheard among country tulips.

These are all but tinges of the last hope
That glimmers through autumn winds
And journeys through unpaved paths.
Let time heal all to make this great song.
This world is a great orchestra to witness;
A great symphony of undying faith binds
As I have to sing because am the song.


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Not far away from here
Does a tale survive,
That hymns the summer and winter
Of an adorable love alive.
The bard drooped under the sun
And walked over the uneven earth;
And now is an embodiment in misty morn,
Where no faith will ever be forlorn.

 I will tell you the tale of Bluebard.

In autumn he was born
And in winter did he live.
All else is least seasoned
As the tale is of a man to mourn.
On his birth near the lake
A vision of cobra did it take,
That over water moved to earth.
But the world is more venomous?

Perhaps that day all planets
Stared at what did they make?
Will it be a life full of errors?
Or what attire will it take?
No one ever guessed or gambled
As the sinking star isn’t worth a penny.
As the cold became intense
Green leaves turned pale.
With lifeless form like a tree he stood,
Beside him the way of the world moved,
On which crowded salmons rushed.
Salmons become lifeless on this road.

But in the evenings he was amused
By the mermaid that appeared in mist.
Soon all leaves left the bough
And the tree stood with arms wide open.
Who knew death was about to feast?

While in dark the creature appeared,
The mist got filled with fragrance,
And the water smelt purest love.
Soon the mermaid turned violent
And in the battle ended the romance.

Now that the bard is alone
Longing for that whiteness around,
The winter has ended and lake vanished,
As yawns and yells the greyest hound.
The selfish world never pitied
Not the whitest swans flown
To that unending eternity.

The bard has seen the wraths of time,
But strange it is still in him
That he longs for the mermaid to return.
Now as the sun is harsh and to burn
The roots have gone ashes
But the bough still longs.
The bard being the son of the muses
Kept silent as the crowded way amuses.
Strange it is but true that all lives
Do not end, some remain forever.

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