A breeze meant to blow through the woodwind rushes lost itself in step.
And thunder once awoken grew older and older till forests swayed and broke.
And today the stars fell behind to sound impure by the darkness of a lens.
A flash where the laughter was – and the rest is old magic tomorrow.
And we forget – only to remember – the glint of an eye in the dark.
And magic where it wasn’t – old songs in the old rain.
Much that was ours is the wind and the sprites play softly.
Softly. In the dark when we look away. They listen for our tears.
And they grow wiser - the notes grow wiser at the wetness if things.
At the dryness of love washed away by the hours – and the wait.
The thought is remembered and the song plays on forever.
A whistled tune in the growing silence – till only silence moves on ahead.
Much that was ours is the earth and the sprites sing softly.
Softly. Beneath the dust when we look away. They listen for our tears.
And we hold the world to account – time to account for our mistakes.
Spent and sore in remembrance – till the laughter reaches us again.
And the dulled lights return – fleetingly – for a glimpse of something left behind.
The stars rock gently, cradling them to a lulled sleep. We stay awake.
And whisper things left unsaid across worlds that never existed.
Till the waves break again on the woodworked shore. A dream wakes.
Much that was ours are the dreams and the sprites play softly.
Softly. In the memories when we look away. They listen for our tears.
And thunder once awoken grew older and older till forests swayed and broke.
And today the stars fell behind to sound impure by the darkness of a lens.
A flash where the laughter was – and the rest is old magic tomorrow.
And we forget – only to remember – the glint of an eye in the dark.
And magic where it wasn’t – old songs in the old rain.
Much that was ours is the wind and the sprites play softly.
Softly. In the dark when we look away. They listen for our tears.
And they grow wiser - the notes grow wiser at the wetness if things.
At the dryness of love washed away by the hours – and the wait.
The thought is remembered and the song plays on forever.
A whistled tune in the growing silence – till only silence moves on ahead.
Much that was ours is the earth and the sprites sing softly.
Softly. Beneath the dust when we look away. They listen for our tears.
And we hold the world to account – time to account for our mistakes.
Spent and sore in remembrance – till the laughter reaches us again.
And the dulled lights return – fleetingly – for a glimpse of something left behind.
The stars rock gently, cradling them to a lulled sleep. We stay awake.
And whisper things left unsaid across worlds that never existed.
Till the waves break again on the woodworked shore. A dream wakes.
Much that was ours are the dreams and the sprites play softly.
Softly. In the memories when we look away. They listen for our tears.
5 comments:
where are you arshi? have you gone away already?
this poem evokes a lot of pain, and half-remembered loves, i like it.
where are you arshi? have you gone away already?
this poem evokes a lot of pain, and half-remembered loves, i like it.
no, i'm still in calcutta. :)
i go on the 3rd of july.
thats a good one that made a splendid read.
i need to thank u for this.
:)
its beautiful. how do u come up with such stuff?
its fantastic.its related in a way. u know to what.
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