Saturday, September 18, 2010

when the day becomes the night

the desert crawled empty of life and time,
the endless sands that threw the wind in its wake,
and the world still remained empty of truth;
for the heavens were emptied of their gods and their lies of freedom,
lost in the giant ocean that deepened the world and the skies.
far above behind the sun,
the lord of time and the master of domains,
cloaked in the bright eye of the world,
must he cast his shadow of pity,
upon the crumbling sands that shamed misery,
and in his eyes did the maddened ocean rise,
for the lands did scorch in hunger,
and with sweet passion does nature reply with her soft embrace,
the vivid colors of her charms and spells,
of hues and shades that pleased the roving eye,
and he watches her graceful dance,
her dainty feet,they stroke the melody of her song,
the mother of life and all that prevailed,
but her smile,Oh the terror that streaked her lips,
but yet innocence beheld her warmth and care,
and in her eyes for compassion showed her,
she made the love of he who watches constantly,
in the darkening night of this broken twilight,
the comforts of lovers beneath all romance,
the fearful ecstasy moaned its lush pleasure,spinning the world in that passionate fury,
and the children of life were indeed born in love.

the silver crescent stood upon the edge of her lips,
the stars burnt in the mist of her alluring fragrance,
for the whole world was joyful for her love,
and her mighty voice did carry her love and hopes,
and she danced and danced,captivated by the sound of her heart,
ever beating,timelessly and open,
she calls to the world for blissful harmony,
for there is still mercy within the serpents noose,
as the prey does battle for the strength of its last breath.
for this wonderful mistress of time,
should her gentle hands caress and carve the lines that draw beauty,
the affection of a mother unto them,borne of simple love,
for every mark upon their skin,and the beauty still remains in every beast:
but for the love of romance,this elusive romance,
for the nature of a mother to nurture the life that is hers to cherish,
for the world was turning and time had yet blissfully been forgotten,
the past of youthful nature should dare look back,
the face of the fading sun,standing alone and upon the sea,
lifting its sadness of flight for the skies and world to see,
and there did she remember the warm heart of her receding lover,
and she praised his name in the dark that bound her to his power,
that sadness is buried deep in her womb,
she cried forever and for none in the pains of that birth,
swallowing her woes for mercy had passed,
and she held her bleeding child to her breast and woe betide the painful agony of painful memories,
but this child and son in silence did endure the misery of his mothers tears...

13 comments:

  1. Beautiful writing, which brings me into the story, and allows me to dance and gasp for breathe alongside each line. I look forward to browsing through your blog. Cheers, David

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  2. very nice indeed, loved this, exciting post ;)

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  3. Profound and beautifully written

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  4. How very sad, though beautifully written.

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  5. Incredibly beautiful, sad, and so very well written. Wonderful talents...thank you for sharing your words.

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  6. beautiful word feast; eloquent and evocative

    you are a true poet

    Diana

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  7. Deep...right words chosen. Well done!
    Cheers!

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  8. thank you to all :) this is the first chapter of my next book :) it is a small preview with the creation of life with time and nature as witnesses...the strange journal into the unemployment is the first poetry/short story book i have written...my light sided perception of unemployment :) enjoy :)

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  9. nice to see the art of narrative poetry is alive and kicking! @bookdreamer

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  10. @bookdreamer-i have written an entire book of narrative if u wud be interested in reading...the title is the strange journal into the unempolyment of s.kandaswamy...its right here on my blog,a 21 chapter insight into the freedom of a man who has no place to go and no money to spend,i think that is what modernists and writers of this age should be calling freedom :)

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