Art thou a winged thief?
As bards have called thee.
Or as called that great scientist,
An illusion.
...
Poems grow like plants
irrespective of the land,
soil, or climate.
They grow in lands fertile
...
Under the fierce sun,
the coal black road burns,
among honks and beeps
all parched and drenched
...
Long before I met you
your presence was felt
you were there to tease my dreams
in fancied memories of love
...
I cannot promise you only flowers
cause thorns are inescapable
I cannot promise you only light
cause dark is inevitable
...
Your memory touches my mind
like soft breeze
touches a lake
and makes ripples
...
Those that I killed
are buried under the surface.
The surface,
where I roll my boulder up
...
Thus, came you, into my life
early rays of morrow
into a dark night
brightening everything in sight.
...
Time
Art thou a winged thief?
As bards have called thee.
Or as called that great scientist,
An illusion.
Whetever you are, flowing like a stream
take everything with you.
Dry leaves flow on surface,
With downs and ups and downs,
'till, thy wreched waves
tear them,
Break them,
Make them too heavy to go on.
They sink,
Never to be seen again,
Rest float on.
Compelled to follow thy curses lead.
Lost ones, loved ones, sunk one,
Live, perhaps, under thy surface
doomed to never come
up.
Hello Birbal. So grateful I am to you and others, who take their time To read and, at times, critique my poetic submissions. Lawrence S. Pertillar
You sir are so gifted.Incredible thought-provking beautifully crated poems and prose. They for me and shared for others to enjoy and then comptemplate over are a Godsend. Thank you Birbal.Thank you.