Tribute to Gitanjali-Vishal
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| joy of love |
death.. bygone dots of rising sunset.
Death lived once lost,I see no pain,
I bold sow my seeds of wiles and tiles,
moist in cool breeze , shimmering in light,
I don the voice of the destiny, as my sober
sobs,
forlorn and coy in forbid cinnamon scent of
agony,
we are pines of aligned minds in silent zipped
mouth,
oh' I wonder how I gorge on death, in my dreams,
I see no fear, nay not feel fear, but I
viciously roll fear,
in dim quilt of Zia moulded simmers , ailing
lullabies,
all as big big ripe jamuns of estuary in pity,
bonded somewhere is the soul to our body,
but, can the body see the soul in direct iris
poise,
yo, if fussy oyster of pearls are strung as
beads,
can we occult the string as hidden reeds?
we ought to see the leisure in death,
as eternal peace, most kindled in sorrow.
road to life is long and jogs high in torrents,
are nightmares to culminate,
but, ultimatum is death. the rigid etios
of diffident wounds,
me, is very punched on generous pride,
die, is in turn, strides of blended humility,
thou shall ride on death, if thou can find
solace,
in my vest of life , I nurture presence of my
golden feet,
I see my lord in the glow of his unnerved bliss,
bow to thee, I am but once again hoping to act,
as death winning mortals, do we ever miss this?
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