The silver tears and the pot of wine

a strange journal into the unemployment of S.Kandaswamy 
chapter 10: The silver tears and the pot of wine   
                                                                                  

The ecstasy so queer that my tongue should stammer the pain that bathes in the river to break the cold thorn, buried in my empty heart and I shiver in the glory of it all. No longer does emptiness have a place where the thousand sounds of every heart beat that claims its broken pulse. Fragments and remnants of the once strong army of words that failed to confess of what secrets lay docile and hidden deep, but now to appear to heal the essence itself though the touching moment may have passed but oh what will I do or say as my questions and answers use the same ladder to climb from nothing and to elevate the certain.

Must I spend my every rising day to dream of the beauty that is cold at its touch to shatter every glittering mask of gold. Beauty is cruel and the mistaken man must pay with his conscience silenced just to look in her eyes and she that calls to me and I to her and we as one must my shadow run from me and has her twisted smile that I fear so well. To dine at the empty table, the lesser hunger that chased my thirst for love, for too long have I gazed at my half empty plate.

I dreamt of love herself one day in the wake of her soundless footsteps and could I explain every reason of her every movement as the silk of her skin that has followed me till here. My fingers that slipped through her hand and the ghost of her long lost tragedy of her fateful smile that called me the witness to the greatest and only form of her divine love. a tramp for his existence sits alone as always, pushing and pulling all that was needed, I sit alone in the woods, a memory to hold me as I still dream of her tonight and I want her so, the fair lady of creation that could escape her fate to sleep undying.

Beside this love, he sleeps and wakes, so restless in his being the guardian of promise and fortune that married the holy garland around her neck. Fallen with love, the world has been drained of what truth my heart offers to her and she that drinks a drop of wine from the tip of her finger, and the taste of her eyes and lips as my eyes are opened only to relish.