Yester night…

In the middle of a sullen night

The memory of yester night

Vanquished, the avid soul.

And the singing heart is asking me

The scenario and the screen play!

You came as a shimmering glimmer

Of a resplendent cloud, in my dream…

Some reveries, to pour nectar into my spirit.

When you roam, in my reveries, heaven arise

And stoop down to earth, with presents

Of bouquets of blossoms, brought from

A vanished spring, seasons behind.

Like the virtue of my sacred deeds in life;

Intimate moments, churns out ripples in the thoughts,

Chalice of the heart brims with sweetness.

Cloying spring was visible in the dreamy eyelids,

Where, swooned fantasies dangled, quivering.

Those days when love sprouted in our hearts

We forgot ourselves in the frenzy,

We could not contain inside us,

The unreconciled, youngish vigour.

There was only one horizon for us; our desires!

If once you smile, it becomes showers of kisses

In my reminiscence, and in my dreams.

And we share together one passion,

One desire, one aspiration,

And only one ambition…

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Time Stannds As Sentinels…

Grandpa used to wear a loin cloth like a ‘G’ string

Around his waist, hiding only his ‘very’ private parts.

It was Pa’s turn to start wearing a ‘dhoti’, over such

A ‘G’ string, since he wanted to cover his thighs also,

For modesty and etiquettes, being a social animal.

I changed into wearing a ‘double’ dhoti smoother,

And flimsier, by the standard of snobs among us;

Leaving the upper limbs naked, and appealing.

My son took to wearing pants to change it.

Then my grandson cut its length and made

A shorter version and called it ‘Bermuda”.

[A British Overseas Territory, where they    *

Approve it as an official dress and worn by

The Army as appropriate uniform in tropics.]

May be his son will wear only an underwear or ‘brief’;

And his grandson may even refuse to wear anything

As attire, and go stark naked, all the way; all the time.

History repeats and resurrects itself, and time stands still.

Only life and costumes change its courses…

*     http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bermuda_shorts

Prognosis…

Do not love me at all expecting that I am a flower.

Do not touch me as though I am a dew drop;

I will fade away with the warmth at your finger tips.

Do not tread on me, believing that your insteps will

Find it comfortable to walk on me.

Do not try to climb down into the depth

Of my fathomless heart,

Assuming I am only knee deep.

Do not try to delight me with a kiss

On my disillusioned lips, believing

It is enormously charming and sweet.

I am just a woman, with all the vileness

Of this world, and none of these.

I am no angel….