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Posts Tagged ‘time’

Among these sun-filled eyes and dust kissed lips
There’s a tale of a tempest that madness whips.
Hand to hand trusts too with a heart holding love
While there are scattered visions of unending hope.
Among these decrepit steps of this temple of faith
We will not gaze deep into the sculptures of science,
But more at the art rising in the distant horizon.

There stand these visions we had like our fathers
Of all generations who hold their child’s finger
To lead through, to greet all and to bid farewell
When done enough with time and tests of life.
Faith is a great magic, holds the breath of ours
When in need and let go when we are set to sail.
Time echoes, the time we live forever and ever.

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In these desolate hours of an unending night,
I see the moonlit rocks cut into the steps of art.
The steps are in stone, the ones so entrenched
Through the times we lived, in the hours of heart.
Why flicker with fate, why foster nests unknown?
Why tamper the torrid tests of time that moan?

The world we know is gone to sleep, now in dream.
The moments stand altogether stronger in rhyme.
Soul knows no scented evening full of velvet course;
The women, the wine, the literature all look grim.
Freedom, that I seek, is no escape but grow my soul
Into a swan that shall cover the waves of reason.

A distant friend, a beauty almost in faraway land;
Not love, nor treason, but souls that I see in dust,
Make these emotions distant, devoid of the death,
Devoid of barren brazen boasting beats of sound.

I will meet you at some crossroad again and ask,
If it meant sense to have covered with the mask.
Am I insane, induced with engulfing enticed illusion?
Or you were the time that chiseled me into a man?

When I meet you, I will ask!

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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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On this side of the moon there is peace,
There is a an oak to rest my intellect,
And pass on to the blue river bank
For my soul to go nude and cleanse
All that has for years got engrossed.

This river is for ages sinuous and leads
All souls, all saints to the ocean of hope.
There are no pebbles to secure my feet,
But softness of white sand all around.

All memories seem like a mockery,
And all emotions, a wastage of time.
The ocean is not far, just eyes slept
Awhile and dreamt of eagled tombs.
On this side of the moon there is peace,
Some poetry as a prelude to unfold love.

I will write more verse than mere vision,
As my muse is my mettle to the show.
To no Troy shall this soul ever turn,
But with the blue stream slickly flow
To meet the tides where ancient gods
Preach precinct deeds of the dawn.

On this side of the moon there is peace,
There is a choice for cutting the clusters.
To fathom the fear of the self is glory
So needed and known to build our kind.
There is a swan so white to follow
In these troubled waters of our time.

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Time is cruel that it doesn’t return
Nor does it feel when the heart breaks.
With leaves wandering among weeds
Seldom there is an echo that breaks.
We will not love again nor will dream;
The faith that grows like an oak
And falls from the tall beautiful cloak.

Somewhere near we will see again
The mundane eyes with tears filled.
And someone whispering in the ears,
All will but change so where does it end?
Then a soul will stand, another will follow.

The caverns of time will guide
And gentle breeze will heal.

The hoofs still beat and hunger stands
Alone on this strand deserted for long.
There is light and there is darkness.
There is an eternal war to face within.
There is peace in an unknown song,
When melodies flap and ever embrace
All monuments of race and empty hands.

Someday on this acre of green grass
With dew filled Tulips swinging
A soul will meet its soul and pass
The baton of love and care.
Then there is no anguish and pain,
No dream that is butchered,
No wish that enters dark wheels
And no moment that stands still.

Is that what we call death?
Is that the end of all desire?

Flame beside flame will make way
For this luminance that will stay.
All clouds will clap and move,
All stars will now fall in love.
From the furnace I have come
With no tattered piece in hand.
These eyes have closed long before
But the vision within still sees;
The flowers of childhood still fresh,
The fragrance that still echoes.
The robe is now clean and furls
The soul of mine to journey
Through these known woods of rose.

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It was drizzling in a small country side, and was an evening dark and lonely. There were paddy fields stretched on all sides with apparitions of old trees hustling here and there. The sky looked softly lit and birds who have returned after the winter, chirping on unknown boughs. All doors were closed here like everywhere else, small little lamps lit faintly with mediocre human beings surrounded. From somewhere there emerges a white smoke and sometimes the air is moist with occasional fragrance of flowers that grow in the forest. The generosity of this life is in the observation of the unseen fabric that fills the time we live in.

I sat on the pavement through the night watching closely all. I am glad there is a hope for the day to break with a new sun and a new life growing after the monsoon. The possibility of life gets more strengthened with the visions of greenness around and experiences of vivid emotions generated in this small little world of ours.

It is still gray as the night is not just over.
The last drops of the last monsoon
Wish that a great green earth is born,
A phoenix tale from time unknown
Gets played on this country-side.

There is a tree in every being.
It depends what tree you are.
No rain, no Sun will ever help
Someone who doesn’t wish to grow.
No kind will come for help
And no generation will remember.
The more the branches the better.
The green leaves will grow on us,
And will take us into memory.

To nurture, nourish the naive,
Will make a melody for seasons.
The ages of the romance is now gone;
An age of unseen sequences arrive,
For trees to grow and keep green.

We are like the trees born with a seed,
Grow in many seasons undefined.
Yes and grow with a hope to be huge,
To soon stand tall and amuse.
Let conscience choose the right seed
And be here with great future to greet.
Let greenness bring enough fortune
In these ever changing times.

Through seasons let us journey and gain.
Let’s stand together to make a forest again.

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