Wednesday, January 26, 2011

She...

Parched and dry I was, Devoid of abandon,
Graced my life she did, with precision and passion wanton,
Love at first sight it was not,
Devious was the plot,
The seduction slow.

A whiff of her is all that it takes
for me to lose myself in placid lakes.
When I touch her, everything in me dies
Yet, I never felt more alive.
Am I courting the elixir or the poison??
Or am i just naive?
to play with my life without a sigh...

A play it is, a twilight game.
She the hound, me the hare.
Mind you, no blood sport this.
"Just Life longing for itself"
Try as I might to run away,
I rather be the meat on the Hunter's plate.

She is there in my every breath,
well sometimes I do lose her scent,
and then I remember her.
Unjudging she is, unrepentant i am.
Poets may describe her fragrance primrose or ivy.
My Beloved One simply calls her Shambhavi..

4 comments:

Prasanna said...

I read the last two lines atleast a dozen times....awesome!!!

"poets may describe her fragrance primrose or ivy.
My Beloved One simply calls her Shambhavi.."

Prasanna said...

"poets may describe her fragrance primrose or ivy.
My Beloved One simply calls her Shambhavi.."

Read these lines atleast 2 dozen times....no words! simply fantastic....the sweetness transcends

words-of-wisdom said...

I rather be the meat on the Hunter's plate.
... me too. sam

The Thinker said...

Awesome!!! Out of the world!