i think of you many a timesof you and a summerlike many other summershustle of a retreating shadowjust before the darklike an ancient ritetravelingyour touch remainsin an innate stonecarved onsuch sky dotted daysa river once stormed ina chimera blue eveningat gwaliorwhen youtold me of rosesnamed after your motherand stars in gorgesof the fortof forests inlaburnum laughterof many othersstill...
an evening creaks intouching shadows with a tingeof smilea slow release laughteraloe and wild grass shake tojazz momentstiredness breaks its shacklesran the curves of a distant sunwords lost its way homeas usuala poem unwound itselffrom an angle of your eyemdantsane bursts itself in a mayhemof another carnival night. Amitabh Mitra ...
User Name: VihangPassword: Naik’s poetryVerifying…Characters incorrect.Cancel. Done.Connect. Done.Type tea.It’s a cyber cafe.Search: your third eyelost in the internet.You compute.Is there a softwarefor love or a command?Tell mecan love beprogrammed?Beauty is surf.Surfing beauty.Here there isno boundary.You need nopermissionto enter intoany body’s site.Download bytes.You only needa smooth...
Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,The sunset hangs on a cloud;A golden storm of glittering sheaves,Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,The wild wind blows in a cloud. Hark to a voice that is callingTo my heart in the voice of the wind:My heart is weary and sad and alone,For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,And why should I stay behind? Sarojini Naidu (India 1879 – 1949 ) ...
Bien-aimé, vous pouvez, comme les hommes disentn’être que la défaillante étincelleDe la flamme qui tremble en la lampe d’argile.Qu’importe ! puisque vous éclairez mes tenèbresAux lustres immortels du jour.Et, comme pensent tous les hommes, vous pouvez,O le plus cher, n’être qu’une humble pailleEmportée au hasard des brises de la mer.Qu’importe ! puisque vous savez me faire entendreLes murmures...
Les montagnes dévalaientaujourd’hui tout autour de moiqui chevauchais les dragonsdans le soleil et son armure de brouillard :je cherchais tes yeux fugitifsà l’une ou l’autre frontière de mon rêve. Je perçois traînantsdes pas dans la brume d’un dimanche matin :marché aux puces, rances relents de fromage,des gouttes de rosée sur tes cheveux et – fugace ? –un sourire lorsque tu t’es...