24 March 2011


A Phantasm,
That rules our hidden microcosm,
Sharing our whispers,
Under the Silent darkness,
Stretching our hearts unguarded
Yet guarding it all when the Sun rises,
Letting it flow unfettered
Yet steering it uninhibited,
Knowing the destination is close,
Yet feeling so morose,
A sense of rowing alone,
Waiting for a sign in the glowing phone,
Perhaps it is a suppressed whisper,
That lingers and caresses,
Falling in your heart with momentary kiss,
That you were hoping to be eternal bliss,
Such is the Moods of seasons that impress
Weaving aching knots sewn by your seamstress!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

The poem itself feels like a fleeting caress...