Nowhere? Yet everywhere?
Around you, in the scent,
Irresolute, and indefinable,
A whiff, that comes upon the
Light breeze of memories?
Or the heaviness of reality?
The tides turn, tuned to
A testy treacle moon
As you do, and I...
Awash, washed away,
Smothered, cloying
The fragrance of love
Sometimes
Is overpowering.
I am, therefore,
Waxing poetic,
In the light of the
Waning moon.
Still, longing,
Yearning, as that
Fox... Unrequited.
Unrepentant.
12 July, 2011
(Pic Courtsey Google Image Search :) )
This entry was posted
on Saturday, July 23, 2011
and is filed under
abstract,
absurd,
Rambles,
reasons,
yearning
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Worry not for the waning moon
as it will grow again very soon
and you will be granted a boon
for your love will hear your commune
and a butterfly will emerge from the cocoon.
Thank you Govind. No matter, the sun, moon or boon, a butterfly will have to emerge now!