Mar 29, 2009

the flute

in its brisk stagger
across the glistened glade,
a clarion is made,
to the earthy town.


unleashing future
in bounties
of a self-made man
through a pollen shower
of red lilacs


ramming it's path
which leads to his ear
and touches his heart
in the sound of a twilight shower

"o mystic wind,
you smell of my beloved
in your distinct garb,
you brought him here
and embraced me in your breeze"

4 comments:

Amiya chatterjee said...

It is time to get drunk
so as not to be martyred slaves of time.
Get drunk,get drunk
without stopping,
on wine,on poetry on virtue
as you wish.

Soumya said...

Its been long since I have read something which can only be a poetry.

Reading this, I realize, this is perhaps one of the verses I am going to remember for a long time coz its not often that we read a poetry that sails like dream.

God bless you.

Scribbler said...

smooth

good job

keep it rollin;)

eddies said...

thankyou all :)