A Hankie- (A Ditty)
When the moon trails like a wiped yellow smear,
When paths have crossed & you still take the one's that veer,
When the night is spent & sleep is nowhere near,
When the eyes run rivers in a downpour.
When all hope is lost &there is still left a prayer,
When the rains gnaw an old wound that wakes up to stare,
When the river has run it's course & the land lies bare,
When the stars write a name that your lips would'nt dare.
When you live on borrowed charge &spent all your powder,
When prosperity comes sloshing out of the skies with the cries of storm water,
When in grips of frustation, the wind knows so much more than the little it whispers in your ear,
When you see one serious virtue, not narcissism, but a brief wish to be better.
When costly is defeat, not soothed by greater consciousness,
When wasteful is profit, with not the courage to employ it,
When one does not grow, but pays more for remaining the same,
When the evening T.V batters into stupidity the sense of the sensual,
When wind howls like a wounded shrew, in the clouds of doubt, taking it's place in reason,
When a hapless humming bird flits, obliviuos to the evil around,
and there you catch a glimpse of the divine.
That's when you need a tissue paper,
Once called a Hankie,
And this is how all old things get to be,
One is a keepsake- an error in reflection & the other sees the bottom of the bin.
The question is -Will you give it to me?
But on second thought- I'd rather you did'nt!
26 September-2009
Seema. Joglekar
x---x---x
poem by Seema joglekar
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Related quotes
What Is This Between You And Me?
When dawn arrives, sun rises,
And daylight bristles awake,
Never asks; Who leaves an ache as keepsake? ,
Grateful for each day, that he didn’t forsake.
When it rains, the cuckoo sings,
The forest echoes with his cravings,
Never asks; Whose soul-wrenching greetings the rain brings?
Tying her mute existence with what heartstrings?
When the wind moans in sweet whispers,
In ripe orchards, where the fruit anchors,
Never asks; With what sweet nothings he casts his doubts? ,
But in deeper shades she flushes.
When the moon returns on the rung of stars,
The night in obeisance crawls, like hungry jaguars,
Never asks-questions about his whereabouts, all that in the darkness chars,
But steers to him on the shoulder's of the lodestar.
When the storm hurls thunder and rain,
Enduring the earth braces open and doesn’t complain,
Never asks; What havoc in this rage she sustains?
Content to know in her hands, lie the reins to his restrain.
When the butterfly flickers mingling colors,
The blossoms throw no tempers, till their contrast blurs,
Never asks; Who steals my colors and violates the sanctity of my lair?
With open arms to his designs she willing concurs.
When the clouds lie scattered & wander,
The hills try hard to delay their departure,
Never asks; Who rides off to what strange lands with my emotions?
She knows with her heavy on his heart he returns.
Now, you have the temerity to ask me;
What is this between you and me?
x-x-x
Seema.Joglekar
5th Dec-2009
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For this relief much thanks for M lady Ann
Just a few dwindling pools remain
in what was once the river bed.
Three years and more without rain.
Most of my livestock long since dead.
Yet still I have to struggle on
I have no choice no place to go
All of my men have packed and gone,
To where the deeper rivers flow.
Each evening I pray for rain
I won’t surrender to despair.
I’m not too old to start again.
No man can win who does not dare.
The storm clouds gather overhead.
Perhaps in answer to my prayer.
This time release much needed rain.
There’s water, water everywhere.
The river fills and overflows.
The arid earth drinks greedily.
The drought is over: Heaven knows
I’ve had my share of misery.
I face the future confident
That I can do what must be done
Determination and intent
are all I have I will go on.
I will build up my stock and then
I will employ some jackaroos.
To help me run the place again
much needed help that I can use.
But for the present work alone.
My nearest neighbour’s miles away
There is so much that must be done.
Enough to fill each working day.
When evening comes I will give thanks.
Unto my maker gratefully.
The river flows between its banks.
And all is as it ought to be.
09/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Take Your Place!
Blame me not for too calm a face, in midst of a storm,
Baring not the turmoils within, wearing their disguises thin,
On tunes when the heart danced on the cadence of those times
With you at their helm, carrying me along, lighting- a tremor
Of your lips, before a streak of your laughter, the wind their song
Me, the free bird stranded in their shadows, seeking the solace
Of your cage, fluttering like sheaves of corn in sun's embrace,
My flag of surrender, thus wooed; how can I not let you win,
Above the din, drive away my sleep, ransack my dreams
Rob me of my world, take me captive, sweep me away,
To your shores that rock me like a cradle, on rocks so grey
My heart lit like lamps as they blow out again and again,
Let us see who shall tire and bare their naked shame
Even if you turn away your face, I shall wait on these ways
For the storm to blow, till time has come for you to take your place.
Seema.joglekar
4th August-2012
poem by Seema joglekar
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Faith ! ! ! !
Is an oyster lying curled &calm,
Down at the deep sea bottom,
Conceding to none of the surface storms
To fluster its placid pink coral dream.
How remorseless the tempest that whips,
The shell that gathers the sheen,
Of the patient jewel hidden within,
In many a lost soul keeps the light burning.
Away from stone-eyes of doubt &blank misgivings,
In unrewarded Obscurity, whispers to each passing grain,
With promises of heights to attain, burns brightness in each trapped grain,
Washed in a dropp of tear, testifies not to the dust from which it came.
--Forged to outshine the rendition of stars,
Takes nothing from me,
But trains me to walk on water.
x-----x----x---x
SEEMA.JOGLEKAR
1st April-2010
poem by Seema joglekar
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Green River Valley
Your face 'tis mirrored in the river-
Along its banks where moss and algae grow-
Shadows of the dark forests unfold slowly-
'Neath the lemon moon- your reflection- simply glows;
Evening has locked its ebony blanket in-
'Cross the rivers green-gardened theme-
Fireflies flutter their brillance and gossemer wings-
While the river unfolds unfathomnable things;
In the valley under the mountains spires-
The zenith touches the skies broken white clouds-
And the fireflies- now even in daylight-
Mirror your reflection- in the river so proud;
Oh such divine whispers you share with me-
Cupping my chin in your most loving of hands-
Moving one in a caressed sweep 'cross my cheek-
Oh 'tis magical-this green gardened river land;
Where love n'er can e'er perish...
As 'tis strong water-'tis strong as death-
Reflections carry on our love song-
That seeps from your fervant and longing breath;
143
poem by Theodora Onken
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Being Left Out
we arrive here together
when the moon was full
for what reason i am left out
i am alone
and you who are all my friends
like sparrows
flew away from me
together
i am like a tree without leaves
and the rocks from the cliff
stare at me in silence
the rivers have their tryst with the sea
the clouds in reunion with the wind
all in their ecstasies
bursting
the fire of sunset amazes me
i want to go near and be burned
there is something lovely
in that red and orange blaze
soon the black bird comes and hovers
on the land that i walk
soon the silence of the stars shall shoo away
the madness of my heart
i may cry and be like the rain and flood all
the paths that you have left me
i may topple some bridges and witness
the fading colors of the rainbow
the dissolving mist of the mountains
these are the utilities of futility
someone has cried and no one listens
i have a dream for many nights now
i have become the moon owning my own light
i speak to my heart and my ears listen
i shine my own light and i am now silent with a hundred stars
you all left me and now i must thrive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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(Love) September Girl
All I want to breathe is your hair,
The mocha delight of the skin that you wear.
I want you to be the light on the dark side of me,
The sun rays upon my snow
And the blue jays that soar free.
The light that flickers in my iris is for you,
The smile curved on lips,
The blush on my cheek, that gentle hue
Is for no one but you.
I want the sonata of your voice
To lull me to sleep each night,
To the moonlit river to tomorrow, awakening to your celestial sight.
The September wind being as gentle as the kisses we share,
September skies that I will paint for you each year.
You are my lily pads in the reflection of the lake,
September waters from my moonlit river,
Dawning of a September wake.
My firelight circle of hope
Emanating in embers alit in the September rain.
My September carousel of white horses keeps turning,
All my soul within me burning
For you.
My sainted angel for whom angels give envy.
Flirt and flutter around my September moon.
I'm sick of the other months in this world,
So flirt and flutter to me soon,
My September girl.
poem by K. Jared Hosein
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Till You Come!
I will be the gurgling stream,
Surmounting all your hurdles, I shall unwind,
By the head I will drown a hundred sorrows,
And lend you the quiet mind.
I will be a distant star,
On all your sojourns my lights shall burn,
Ask me for whom I shine, for a hundred light years,
And your name, they shall not learn.
I will be the dark night,
Wait till the moon returns every fortnight,
Watch over you with my ten thousand stars,
Till the dawn restores light.
I will be the bird’s call,
In my dawn song sing your praises & promises,
But in none of those ten thousand notes shall fall,
The skip my heart misses.
I will be the blue skies,
That gives your each day a new expression,
Up there lie written a thousand sighs,
And you can’t erase one.
I shall be the gentle breeze,
Seeking you, glide through all your paths chosen,
In my path bend a thousand blades of grass,
And not rest on one.
I will be the tender blossom,
Like a string of dewy pearls wear all your burden,
In a day’s deadline, brave a thousand woes,
And not cushion from one.
I will be the mighty river,
Thirsting to meet the sea, rush driven,
Let thousand springs flow in my path,
I shall not quench from one.
I shall be the raging storm,
Through me all your tempers shall run,
I will rumple the hair on a thousand trees,
And not uproot one.
I will be the brilliant rainbow,
Where ever your dreams have trodden,
In ten thousand wishes, gift you all my colors,
And not save one.
I will be the spring,
Paint you flowers as bright as a beacon,
Shall brave the wrath of a hundred winters,
And not a leaf will I burn.
I will be the bumble bee,
And whine away all your inattentions
Shall steal the scent of a thousand perfumes,
And not breathe of one.
I will be the cool wind,
That wraps around you in the sun,
I will part a hundred clouds,
And not drench in one.
TILL YOU COME!
x--x--x
Seema.Joglekar.
5th Dec -2009
poem by Seema joglekar
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The Water Tower
I sit and stare at this empty page,
The wind howls long at the winter eaves,
The cloud is heavy, and black with rage
As squalls dance in through the myrtle leaves.
While deep inside in the cottage gloom
My love lies weary, cocooned in dreams,
I hear her cry in the darkened room
Call out one name from a nightmare scene.
‘Michelle, ’ she mutters, then groans aloud
I grit my teeth at the open door,
The wind it eddies in dust and leaves
And echoes long at the water tower.
‘Michelle, Michelle, ’ it grumbles and groans,
‘Michelle, ’ it whispers, then skips and howls;
My love rolls over in deepest sleep
While I keep watch through the early hours.
The storm comes in and the rain drives down,
Batters at windows and roof in vain,
The wires whine in a humming frown:
‘Michelle, Michelle, ’ is its one refrain.
And tears roll at my weathered cheek
The clock chimes five at the early hour,
Michelle once crawled from her bed, asleep,
And went to climb at the water tower.
Her hair was black as a raven’s coat
Her eyes set back in that tiny face,
Three winters long was her spell of dreams
Before she crept to that dreadful place.
Three winters long was our fairy child
Who lisped and chattered from heart to heart,
The cottage door had a faulty latch –
I’d always meant to replace that part.
But now, awake from her nest of dreams
I see my love at the open door,
I wait in hope, but her eyes are ice;
She’s staring out at the water tower.
Then I look down, and the page is full,
I’ve scribbled the words of an ancient rhyme,
Over and over and over again –
‘I’ll fix the latch when I get the time.’
And she goes back to her bed to cry
While I sit frozen beside the door,
The latch still rattles, the door’s ajar;
I’ve punched three holes in the water tower.
13 June 1999
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Lady On The Loom!
In the old folk lore, at her loom the old lady in the sky,
Spins dreams and wisps of clouds in the blink of an eye,
One of them could have been mine,
Not to believe in anything is no longer a comfort but a whine.
The warp- the foundation thread stretches, languidly lengthwise on the loom,
While the weft thread entwines in the arms of the warp,
for different types of cloths allowing room,
The trees chastised by the wind gather strength, so is the warp beaten.
To analyze the relation of line to line, that stretches from skyline to horizon
Without considering the texture, is an artistic affection,
Now place line on line braid the textures of the fecund threatening clouds,
Where necessary interlace with the Seraphic cross-sectional symbols,
Brilliant Sun, honeyed Moon, the burst of stars, under it let the flowers assemble,
Kill that moment there & postpone the problem of the next,
Let’s run from tree to tree, till the last hard veer from each other, so dressed.
That step, the binding thread from sensualism to irrevocable cynicism binds us together,
A piece of disjunctivity—where form, matter &texture hadn’t coincided.
Like two trucks entering one lane junction at the same time,
Stakes are high, but never has one collided.
The butterfly shuttle hovers, with it’s colors weft thread rescues, with a purpose
Finally under the blue skies, the cloth is spun; let’s together lie down in it once again,
Thus the old lady shall dispose.
Seema. Joglekar
26September-2009
poem by Seema joglekar
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Closer To Heaven
(lead vocal - eric woolfson)
Rising and falling lighter than air
Silently calling no one is there
Oh, bird that is flying so high and so free
Closer to heaven than you and me
Voices of strangers keep me from sleep
Guardian angels watch over the deep
A ship that is sailing way out to the sea
Closer to heaven than you and me
Visions of rain fall out of blue skies
Rivers of tears fall out of dry eyes
Answer my question tell me no lies
Is this the real world or a fools paradise?
Wind that is blowing so wild and so free
Closer to heaven than you and me
Closer to heaven longing to be
Closer to heaven than you and me
Visions of rain fall out of blue skies
Rivers of tears fall out of dry eyes
Answer my question tell me no lies
Is this the real world or a fools paradise?
Love that lies sleeping wakes in the night
Secrets for keeping that wont see the light
I look to the future and I hope it will be
Closer to heaven than you and me
Closer to heaven longing to be
Closer to heaven than you and me
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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River Of Love
Oh how i miss those days we spent by that old river.You and me sitting and looking up at the stars.Every little problem just disappeared into the night.
I looked you in those breath taking eyes and we would just get lost in our feelings.I look up at orion and those stars remind me of the river of love.
Those nights we spent together laying on the ground and just holding each other in our arms.Singing on the banks of that river and hoping it would never end.Oh how i miss that river of love.
poem by Jonathan Amador
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Let the Sky Cry
She said, “Don’t be afraid, boy,
I’m right here.
I’m tired and yawning
And glad you’re near.”
The sun is setting and we’re winding down
The time we’ve spent is worth having found
This quiet little place in this quiet little town,
So don’t make a sound
Just lie here next to me
And sing this next verse
As we slowly fall asleep.
When the sky cries
I’ll always be here,
To wipe your eyes and catch your tears.
When the sky cries,
Ill shield you from the falling rain,
The cosmic perfection and love will remain
When the sky cries.
Don’t be sucked in,
It’s only a storm.
Please don’t cry;
I’ll keep you warm.
The speckles and drops will all go away
But the sun and the stars will always remain
So please smile for me and grant this wish:
For every storm to be as beautiful as this.
When the sky cries
I’ll be the one to hold you close,
To prevent a shiver or comatose.
When the sky cries
I’ll keep you away from the cold
And protect your heart as if it were gold.
When the sky cries.
The sky will cry and we’ll be alright
We won’t be afraid of the temporary night.
The thunder will shriek and lightening will shine
But we’ll be ok; everything will be fine
As long as I have you in my embrace
With your hands cupping my face
The sky will soon lighten and the sun will come back
Our lives will be spared and the courage we lack
Won’t seem like much compared to you
And my wish will eventually come true.
For every storm to be like this,
To find each other and sneak a kiss
When the sky cries, we’ll conquer the storm
And allow our love to grow more and more.
poem by Braden Patton
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The Wounded Wind
the wounded wind
spirited messages
she does send
disturb not the bark of this tree
ancient soul
it does speak to me
disturb not the pureness of this stream
trickling tears
it does haunt my dreams
the wounded wind sighs
ghostly shadows still dance before her eyes
the wounded wind cries
like the coyote who splits the silence of night howling at the moon
Warning, the wrath of the wounded wind will be upon us soon
poem by by unknown author
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I Want
To welcome you into my kingdom & shut out the sea,
Where on every cascading tree &sun-filled path,
sing chirpy birds & bumble bees,
To fill with their glee all your sensibilities,
An altar lit by your steadfast faith in me.
Here I slide down the walls of a flower cup,
Like the dew, collect in their receptacle
And catch you wink in the glint of the sun,
The intrigue in your eyes unload their burden.
Here rocks brood on the imperative to act,
Like your nearness binds me in a spell distraught,
Waving fields bare open to serene skies,
Only those in love could know of such wantonness.
Here I run my fingers through the satin grass,
the wind cannot break,
As I lay down, lost in their trampled immensity,
nothing can shake,
In a fog burned by the morning sun, wish you were there,
In its breath only your words come to warm the ache.
Here on a faint wind, the pining moon floats, dragging wispy clouds,
Carrying your voice, throws a soft light of stupor beneath,
To play in whispers around my shoulders,
Was that your laughter shading my grief?
Putting words to my feelings and embers under my feet.
Here at the edge of the cliff I live the dare,
Till you return every time you turn away,
Firm in my faith like the tawny leaf fluttering away,
Not giving in, even after the season’s languid sway.
Here expectant I count the scales of the mackerel sky,
Watch the lotus balance atop the water’s edge
Under the summer skies tamed into surrender by the rainbows,
With blossoms burst into easy laughter & easy tears,
in a measure of time’s wedge.
Here I rest on pillows stuffed with old spells of happy days,
Waking at night & muttering at dawn like the creatures of the night.
Every half shut bud in half a dream carries your smile to my lips,
A wonder that also holds the trusting butterflies aloft.
Here soar our dreams like colored birds, our playthings
The price of our lives the wax in our wings,
Today I want to lead you by the hand & take you there,
When I shall return to life without having lived
-Here to lie down in your shade-.
23rd October-2010
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something Deeper Than Stars
Something deeper than tears to weep for you.
I weep blood. I weep the silence
on the backstairs with the screen door
that bangs like the sound of one hand clapping
all through the night at the slightest gust of wind
as if a constellation were trying
to strike up a insightful conversation
with a wet match, the sceptre of a spent blossom.
I need a moon deeper than water to drown in.
I need to dance the pain away
in a sword dance of serpents
that know how to carry a tune
like a well fledged arrow, a beautiful toxin,
straight to the heart of the mysterious apple
that's sitting on top of my head like a prophetic skull.
No flower can say. Not any number of song sparrows
returning to the budding tree in spring,
no green leaf of an innocent tongue,
not even this dry leaf of mine in autumn
writing lyrics on the wind no one can read,
not even among ghosts, can find a voice
that isn't already the dead language
of an absence that can't be adorned
by a seance of words.
I light no candles. I summon no gods.
No pretence of knowing where you've gone.
No black hole that's as empty as
your ring on the table, no halo
that ever fell as far from heaven.
Good-bye's too optimistic and farewell's
the rudder of a grave on the rocks.
And if I were to raise the paper sail
of another poem like the waxing phase
of the funereal moonboat
that carried you away,
I'd make it black. I'd raise it
like the shroud of a black magician
that can make things disappear,
like an eclipse at half mast
and patch it with the skull and crossbones
of a different phase of the moon on the dark side.
I wouldn't return your personal belongings
back to the morning like starlings and doves.
But there aren't enough sacred syllables
swimming like moonlit fish
in the watershed of the silence
to open this fountainmouth of grief
like an aviary of flightless birds.
Nor would I risk having you remember me,
and turn around like a false start,
supposing you can still recall anything at all,
like a light you left on in the hall
the night you left home for good.
You were magic while you were here to work it.
You were the black nun of an enlightened cult of one.
You were the black mass of the sun at midnight
and the blood sister of the moon
that nicked your finger
on both her crescent thorns at once
so one was the cure to the other's wound
like the eyes of a cat, the fangs of a snake.
Given how close to the moon you were
it didn't come as a surprise
when you started writing me loveletters
inscribed in bone as if you'd just invented
a whole new language out of your claws
to make love to a poet in the nude when the moon
didn't lay its silver sword down between us
to keep us a threshold apart from our fingertips.
And it wasn't long before the elixir began to work
and I lost count of the number
of consensual metaphors I had for your lips,
similitudes for the night skies
that surrounded your eyes in a delirium of stars
that revelled in the crazy wisdom
of their mystically inspired atmospheres.
As just as beautiful as they were,
so were they irresistibly dangerous.
How many light years now
have I poured this memory of them
like a love potion over my roots
and waited for you to bloom in my bloodstream
like stars and blossoms streaming
through the heartwood of an ageing tree
that has as many dead branches on it as it does leaves,
and like an orchard anticipating moonrise,
knew you weren't coming anymore,
and the night bird had no one to sing for?
But, hey, I'm still a better seance
than I am an exorcism and if you can hear me
calling the faithful to prayer
in all directions at once like a paper airplane
the boy in me has sent out to search for you
like a loveletter in a hurricane of razor wire,
dripping with clusters of blood
the size of hemorrhaging grapes,
fireflies caught in a spider-web
of starless constellations that aren't a sign
of anything except I miss you worst at night.
If you could sense the tremor
in even the slightest wavelength of light
I'm trying to shine on the darkness to find you,
I'd write you a holy book of sacred silence
inspired by the shadows in my blood
that overtake me like strangers from behind
with an urgent message not to return home
to what isn't there anymore.
I'd sit out here all night by myself
beside the black waters of this night creek
unravelling like a ribbon in mourning,
that's been talking to itself
as it walks in its sleep on the water,
and I would beseech the stars with my eyes
to let me know if they've seen you,
and in my heart I would entreat them
with the solo of a wounded wolf
raising its head up in a wild prayer
to catch a trace of you on the chilly night air,
to give me a starmap to when and where
I can see you face to face again
and touch your eyelids in your sleep
like crocuses coming up through the snow.
Like moonrise in the apple blow of the storm
that scattered us to winds like all these poems
I've tried to write for you ever since
as if you were still somewhere nearby
like another pair of eyes
in my pain and my solitude
watching from the woods
the stars, the water, the moon,
under the stones in the river
that mark your grave and name
above the flowing of this endless epitaph
of leaves and blossoms and poems
as if you alone could still read them,
like the comings and goings,
of waterbirds on the moon,
the first draft of words on the wind,
maple leaves and keys on the mindstream,
and still understand what I was trying to mean.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under the Midnight Moon
In the still of the night, by the promise of the moonlight
Whispers of the wind, all I could hear are memories
Scattered stars hold my thoughts like silhouettes
Flashing on the clouds, the torn pages of my youth
For awhile, a cloud crept across the face of the moon
As dark as my old character, a stubborn child, I recalled
Now, my son is my mirror and I can feel inside of me
Those I took for granted he’s now feeding back to me
I must weld your dreams and restore your strength
With my bare hands to suffer for I am to be blamed
As long as there’s tomorrow for what I less-treasured
This wind that whispered by is another lesson I heard
So, again I clasp my hands to prolong this life I borrowed
Direct me right so I can pay him greater than what I owed
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Borrowed
borrowed shirts, borrowed shoes,
borrowed books, borrowed thoughts,
borrowed bed, borrowed lover,
borrowed dreams, borrowed salt.
borrowed children, borrowed mothers,
borrowed study, borrowed lives.
borrowed God, borrowed heaven,
borrowed killers with borrowed knives.
borrowed flags, borrowed lies,
borrowed virtue, borrowed freedom.
borrowed bombs, borrowed bullets,
borrowed puppets, borrowed kingdoms.
borrowed soup bowls, borrowed numbers,
borrowed tents, borrowed bridge.
borrowed hope, borrowed survival,
borrowed till it's sacrilige!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Please Do Not Be Another Poet Biting The Dust
please
do not be one of those poets biting the dust
this is not an arid land
a desert
this is a paradise, a place where rivers from our hearts flow
where we like to hear birds singing
where clouds drift like our freedom to be where we want to be
please
do not succumb to the call of popularity
there is nothing there but an empty bag
a wind in our heads
please
write because you want to
not because you want to be read
but because you want to sing to the gods
because you have an offering
to the altar of the divine
without expecting anything in return
look at the bird flying in the skies
they do not skyjump or go
into an exhibition for a show
they fly because they have wings to fly
we write because we have many poems all waiting to be written
we are poets because we are here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Above All Shady Things!
All the heaviness of the heart wears not, like, rising the carousing sun,
Spills rainbow jewels, on the blade of every grass and leaf undone,
Curbed by things low and mean, pebbles hurled over water,
To even out the seams of the creased uneven world's border,
Like clouds surmounts lofty peaks, attempts things above its strength,
Untangled in any tempting prosperity breaking through the reserve of mine,
Pleading no excuse of impossibility, tossed to the wind claim the pollen,
Seeing things to their end, unruffled by the mock of the bow of heaven,
Where others would faint and fall, fear urges on, without despair,
Weary but not tired, to press on towards the sea, like the river,
To keep it close to the heart as the stars in the dark keep their light,
Forcing itself upwards like a lily above the betraying surface, buoyant,
Revealing things you withheld from me, holding my hand,
Now in your absence leave me with the intoxication of your presence
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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