on the brink of ecstasy
knowing you will be
a pile of tulips on the
astray path of long miles
I walk the silvery track
lost in thy swelled bosom
as I hear the bells tinkling
from the chimes of far Church
I see the hand of the virgin
picking the mauve paper-roses
they don't smell the scent of flower
but I cherish the parted hair
being emboldened by the shards
of false-flowers
I selectively wear the
colour grey on the wings
and drink the rum on tides
there is a smile on thy face
as if wind is lost in forest
and I choose thy cheeks
reddened more than red wine
to smoothen the buds of
Chardonnay entwined
on the brink of ecstasy
A lovely piece of poetry ceremoniously rich in tone. Beautiful and very passionate. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Such a nice start, Raj. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks