Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
Ode to my desert.
The deserts may be a geological reality,
But to me they are a blessing in surreal calamity.
If there were no vast endless lands,
Where would I find a reflection of vacant ends?
They to me are the cradles of Babylon,
Not symbols of graves of the lost and gone.
On the moving, shifting sands of time alone,
Wind blows and reveals the hidden jewels of tomorrow's morn.
I see the diamonds, the stars of twilight,
Being gently nudged into the life of our shared divine.
As the dunes move I see you turn,
Te silken blanket that covers you burns.
You try to grasp, and hold it tight,
But my darling my desert will expose the beauty you hide.
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Comments about this poem (Ode to my desert. by Hardik Vaidya )
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