His Shadow Poem by neha raj singh

He sits on a mountain top, his eyes on the magistral eagle.
the wispy clouds float below him, the blue sky envelopes him,
he looks down upon the cluster of reality, merged in his circumstantial life,
his world has become mundane.
The tornado of his emotions seem like a masked monotony,
like poisoned arrows his truth pierce through the plebeian's
Pure he is from heart and soul,
indeed the glaciers are synonymous to him,
reflecting your dark secrets his crude thoughts,
make you shy away from his boldness.
Yet like an intriguing maize he calls upon you.
Life based on virtues,
his vanity wheels him to excel,
painfully pushing himself to untouchable boundaries.
Numbered are his companions,
who protect him during the dust storm,
to them he bows to.
Fighting against time you must knock upon his door,
for his door is not opened for all.
Enter you may but never will you remain.
Stripped rays cage him,
elementally magnified is his being,
yet clothed in a dark robe he wonders,
meticulously creating pathways as he walks through each day.
With the passing of each moment he joins hands, casts aside, forgives, falls in love.
He holds on to you, reveres you.
Weaved into his life, love will devour him,
magical it will be,
yet the strings may break,
hurt it will,
in slumber, in wakefulness it will persist,
dark dreams will haunt.
Avengence and anger will coat his soul,
although the escape lies in the righteous.
Placing himself at a higher pedestal he will let himself fall.
he will take flight, gliding against gravity.
Freedom he will merge with,
a friend he will share his life with,
he will run,
he will live,
as he will live to breathe.
Live to love,
live to give life,
survive he will,
but in vanity will his will be?
tis not a question for the saints,
only to be answered by his conscience.
His parallel lies in his shadow,
dripping of agnostic gems,
filled with webbed doubts.
In comfort with them,
he will be lead to the path of unknown,
where the end has never been set foot upon.
To allow the lilies to bathe him is a choice of his own,
for in his hands lies the quill to engrave his destiny.
To deform the object of his adoration is not love,
it is a form of darkened judgement.
For in love you evolve,
not in love you change.
to trust he will learn,
to understand he will try,
yet in adverseries he will thrive,
In the realm of sanity his time will prevail.
in an illusion he will persist,
through space he will walk.
He will rise to meet the eagle at the point of no return.