a granite rock
tickled with waves for years
all over the sea shore.
In a winsome spring dawn;
when cosmos attest tranquility
An old owl awakens
with the whisper of pleasant morning breeze
and unfurls its sparkling eyes
to breathe some redolent flowers
dancing in the shrouded sun.
I stayed outside
moonstruck on the lunatic light
witnessing the fireflies disperse into darkness
wondering silver space filled with the ivory shades
dreaming and savouring the mosiac of crickets.
I discovered an eternal flame
and perpetual music inside.
Tired of swimming forlorn oceans
and unable to build a substantial bridge
Deliberately; I cocooned myself
when I will be out to fall in love with this world
the world itself will be in love with me
No longer, I will try
swimming those sequestered oceans
but will fly over the hedge.
Years I have spent,
caged behind these golden bars
dreaming sombre beaches and the murky skyline.
As I sit by the golden heaps of sand,
and think solely about my flapping wings
I wonder an unchained horizon.
Beside the obscure banks of river winding down
I feel the luscious scent of daffodils
in the wisp of bracing morning breeze.
A butterfly hungry of flowers
reaches for the exotic colours
reflected in the serene dew-drops
lies an illusive world inside
Butterfly reluctantly ridicules the serenity
Dew-drops patiently formulates an epic of struggles.
Destiny decides to end this recurring rivalry
and the sun instantly arise.
This cold peaceful night
the obscure stillness of wind
reminds me of you
the tercets of an empty heart.
The half-naked autumn tree
tickled by the slow gust of wind
flutters its transparent leaves.
An audacious gale
envys the melodic rhythm
garnered by the hustling leaves.
Only a bare brown branch
hears the trumpet of its loss.
She is a dew-drop;
the nature’s alluring creation
a faintly touched splendour;
Confined; the shape of flagon
Emancipated; a serene streamlet
calm, composed and tranquil.
A black crow in autumn
flies above the tangerine beach
a ravenous hunter
discourteously portrays a falcon.
Hunter lost his only hope;the bird its life.
At the dusk,
I sat blankly on the beach
Looking at the tangerine splash of sunset.
This would last forever.
something has happened to the horizon
It just went dark.
“Song of Demise”
An old nightingale
relinquished its wings
little by little
like the withered autumn leaves.
One by one
when the leaves began to revive
The weary bird in silence
sang its last springtide.
© Sabita Dangal