Despair of the clouds above,
Skimming the stones to kill your
wait,
You stand there in the
dried-lake.
You look at the mountain
across for a miracle,
And with splashing sound and
gushing speed,
There comes the waterfall for
you, just for you.
And like a skylark, you spread
your wings to collect some drops
With a thought that this time
it won't stop,
The waterfall suddenly disappears
behind the mountains.
You look at your drenched-self
and ask,
"Is that a beginning or
an end of the weird season called love?"
Now, hopeful of the clouds
above,
Writing the poetry to plead
and impress,
You are standing there, waiting
for her till the unknown times.
*- Amit Kharat*
Comments
Post a Comment