Monday, August 9, 2010


The ride of stepping stones
The pearls on the sea-shore,
The jeopardy of topsy life
The aching desire to get more than more.

The dusty wind of thoughts
The black and soft threads,
The to and fro motion of substance
Knowing not the gravity of persistence.

The ranging colors of cloud
The vast speed of instinctive struggle,
The rise of parallel fighting forums
Yes! Life is but a muddle.

The agony of the gone time
The memory of the lost,
The hideous astray motion
The volume of shady solutions.

Reason of being aloof, alone
The damn sight of the world,
The varying pace of momentary change
The soul wants to be lulled.


Eyes fixed on you,
The mere glance of you
The perceived still motion
The mere gap of you.

Remembered and ached voice,
The mere vision slowed
The watched-over glance
Remained absorbed and bowled.

Submerged fast-forward life,
Underwent a manque rise
The mere sight renewed
And returned at life's price.

It is how we are, ourselves,
Held together and sound
Here is nothing subdued
The mere voice is our bound.