A pattern, a network, behind this world;
Whatever happens, whatever transpires,
Works on some order, on unknown pattern;
A subtle grand plan beyond human grasp
...
What is beauty I wondered often,
Is beauty, there or really here,
Or nowhere, a chemistry perhaps;
It strikes like bolt from anywhere
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As long as we keep each other alive
In place in space in furrows in soul,
No wind or shock wears us from other;
As long as we lend concern and tend,
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Bottomless chasm is death,
Mysterious black-hole,
Where and when of it none know;
Is death an end itself
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Poetry is poet's inner world,
Churnings of Self in distinct words;
Poetry is not black and white,
Grey, nuances of diverse hues
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Birds, both small and giant
More than all the stars in the sky,
I held in hand and snugly fondled;
Oft I held a few to heart,
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The rosy hue of lovely bright spring,
The lively fragrancy flowers swing,
The divine joy cool breezes bring,
Songs cuckoos from quietude wring
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Truth has but a single straight path,
Multitudes are courses unto untruth;
Truth like light lights all the times,
Flickers untruth with time’s whims.
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Often I wondered what is fear,
Is it here, or there, or anywhere,
Or is it within self-induced lair
Of uncertainties in fantasy’s fair!
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Mansions I for long built in dreams,
Day and night for dear years,
For you, and where I crowned you,
Where lights and colours dazzled soul,
...