Skip to main content

Together

I sit here to write
An epic of love
But words don't pay heed
To my flowing senses.

But what I write is about you.
Who held the rain
at her footsteps,
Who could love the way
Gothics shy
And who can heal my scars
Like I never had.

And what I write is about me.
Who drenched in the rain
Like the raindrops,
Who was loved the way
He dreamt never.
And who cried in the
happiness beyond.

So if ever the rain stops
I would stand near you.
If ever the scars anew
I would feel your healing touch.
If ever I don't sleep
I would breathe you to sanity.

On that rain soaked sands of
Seashore
And above the presence of
lonesome moon,

You would murmur the
gentle song
That I would echo in silence.
And would pray,
Somewhere,tiptoeing my wishes
Dreams will rush up
To another moment of
blissful song offerings...

SoUmY@



Comments

Rukhiya said…
I know this by-heart!:D
Cinderella said…
YOu said,

**But words don't pay heed
To my flowing senses.**

But here, your words flow like they know no bar. Never knew.

I hope she reads you, as much as I wish he could write them for me....

But ok, his bathroom singer voice also sounds amazing...lol !

Popular posts from this blog

Untitled

You travel - Through unknown stations, passing empty paddy fields. over quiet rivers that rest beneath you. You bring a lot of earth along, And smell of mud, fish scales and trains.  You whisper and scream, Put your nails in me, occasionally call it love. Other nights, we make peace. Strangely at dawn, When the Sun rises and you see me sleeping,  I hear your whisper,  you travel ...   ... Deep inside me.

Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@