Weak Attempt. His clothes are tattered, his hair shabby, his eyes as dry as a drought hit ocean, His face, which ones was full of bloom, has semblance of a withered flower. His complexion is frail and weak, And he is wounded from head to feet, But he never cared, for these wounds never ached. Unlike his bodly wounds, the wounds of his heart, Never bestowed him a moments peace. This insane person, as others call him, never talked to any one, From his eyes tears always arrived to die on his cheeks. Every night when silience cordons every object, And when darkness and slumber envelopes the city, He creeps out and traverses the streets to reach the beach, Where the cruel winds have engulfed his love. Holding a stone in his hand and then piercing it through the heart of the sea, He like a child yells, screams, cries and begs the sea to return him his possession. Tonight for the first time without moisting his eyes he lies motionless on the same beach; Where in the mirrory craddle of water the sea nymph was lullying the juvenile moon, Where the newly born dew drops were creasing the tender cheeks of rose, And where on the boughs of almound tree, Two love birds,cling in the same embrace, were sucking the nectar of life, The guardian angel of night was playing love melodious to the goddess of love, When her angel deciple brimmed with tears, rested her head in the lap of goddess. Why is he silent today, I am dying to listen his voice, asked the angel deciple. His suffering ceased and he will now rest in peace, Reciprocated the goddess. Showkat Parra. 25/12/2014.
Posted on: Thu, 25 Dec 2014 13:40:09 +0000
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