Sea’s Home-coming
Waves sway in the rocky bay,
Sea in this small playground plays,
Such vastness engulfed amidst rising rays!
Father comes to the daughter from far away,
While, scattered, toyed, rocks lay
Numb to 'father-child' who gyrates,
And daughter’s lullaby exhilarates,
Sky, meanwhile, claps its cloudy array.
O visitor waves,
Existence-lorn, thou come
Here for a homely swash,
Peep playfully inside coastal caves,
Bring aquatic gifts for some,
Along with gusts of air fresh.
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Lady on the Canvas
When a painter paints his lady,
Even the colours seem ready
To sacrifice theirs and turn hers,
Vow, colours ebriated form a painted verse!
The brush too gyrates,
Softly, softly it narrates
His love tale,
Blossomed how a flower in a dale.
He, the love’s portrayer,
His soul immersed in a deep prayer,
Her features emerging,
Aha, love through his hands oozing!
Those eyes now ogle at him,
Deep, deep to the soul’s dim,
And his eyes at hers,
Goes on painting the verse.
When the love is fully faced,
Brush suddenly stopped and fingers braced
The pretty face eager for a praise,
Fallen sage got the colour erase.
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The Nature in Love
The singing vales and flowery dales,
Away, somewhere in nature’s cradle,
Dreams open arms, with all charms,
Come here, come here! Worry not hurdle.
The place in isolation, with Godly intuition,
Too excited to meet someone!
Come dear! Come dear! Don’t thou hear
And remember that fun.
The musical rivulet, and thy hut,
By fullest heart they call,
And the air awaits with thy breath’s share,
While the clouds still remember that playing-pal.
Trees sway with breeze,
It whispers patience in their ears,
Come he will, on thy hill,
In dreams, thy call he hears.
Little pathway, companion on that day,
Embraces those footsteps still,
Hums that song, sung in shadows long,
Where is he? Asks the cloud passing hill.
Wild beauty of yore; opens heart’s door,
Remained I loveless for too long,
Then thou came, with thy love’s tame,
Resonates here now always the love-song.
Thus the lovely vale, falls in love’s dale,
The love-lorn lady; silent beauty moan,
Dreams moments those, blossomed when love’s rose,
Come, come! What serves the purpose beauty alone?
The funny lady on the canvas,
Stared at him with extreme alas,
And furiously said,
Dear, have you gone mad.