The Broken Dance

There was that planet in orbit,
molded by the hands of the divine
he made each man different,
to complete this dance
each with his own particular stance.
Then man saw his brother dancing
and his eyes filled with rage
as he gazed across this earthly stage
and saw his brother's dance.
He was performing the dance written for him,
his brother's steps were different
Not a mirrored choreographed moves of his
His eyes glowed with anger,
he did not understand
that the different dances were
part of the creator's plan
orchestrated to keep the harmony of life.
His temper flared and he pulled out a knife
ripped the heart of his brother, in tune
so too with the murder of these dancers,
the earth began to sway,
caught out of its cosmic transit
it spiraled in chaos,
towards a death known for sure.
This madness mad did create,
destroying the dance,
the planet plummeted into the others
and like the watch that is broken
as this destruction continued
even time lost his power and fell victim.
With a sigh the creator picked up the forlorn souls
of those dancers caught in this mess
and he then with a celestial spark,
there was a boom
and the universe was born again.

The Window

Bared feet running through
the fresh wet grass
We yearn for this our entire life
That insatiable voice inside our hearts,
Laughing, crying, screaming,
Wanting to be a child,
trying with futility,
running against time
to grasp innocence
like an ethereal spirit,
toying with the mind.

how we yearn,
to once again stop in awe
the greatness of nature, to learn
her subtle lessons , her law
listening to her mysterious secrets.

To discover the fairy
sleeping in a daisy,
the little gnome,
mischievous as can be
hiding in our home.
To be trapped in a vortex,
without a heart of stone.
wishing, wanting
to taken back to a place, a time
When rain is still a blessing
still magical, haunting, benign
Speaking to every little beautiful drop
that bursts upon our palms.
in a single drop we can see an eternity,
a dream, a far away land of fantasy,
spinning, dancing that drop
Tethers on the tips of our noses
And falls as we laugh in the joy of the rain,
Imagine the sensation
Of running free in the storm
Allowing it soak into your every pore.

Now as we get older,
we stand by this window,
Still cold but this time
there is no laughter
We simply look out the window,
Like the spectator who can only look on,
but never be, an actor in this spectacular show,
Tears begin to flow slowly,
carefully, guarded, from eyes
That have witnessed too much
A mind that is restless
is deaf to the magical music of the rain
It only hears a forlorn cry
Of a lost soul searching but then
the drops keep splashing,
bursting singing their wonderful song,
it is difficult to ignore the intoxicating rhythm
that beckons to the sleeping child
within trapped in the wary adult...

Ancient and pure,
the rhythm of those drops
calls to the soul
pulling it back along Times eternal line
back to the heart of a child
standing in the rain,
and without a wasted thought,
inhibitions are dissolved,
in the magic of the rain and
innocent giggles pervades the air
as once again bared feet begin
running through the fresh wet grass

Nandi
05-25-06

The rebirth of hope

In the dreary afterthought of silence,
In the calm after a storm
A sliver of gold crept through,
And a little being took form
A metamorphosis was complete,
The earth rotated slowly
shifted into the west at noon
sunlight pierced through a
sliver in the small cocoon
The drop of rain suspended on a leaf
A viscous diamond,
dazzling the sleeping babe.
The little being began to awaken
The grey heavy mist of despair
Began to lift softly like
the tendrils of smoke
From a flickering flame.
In a hollow tube,
surrounded by silent threads
This little being stretched
And shifted and grazed
a delicate paper thin
wing against the hard shell.
A tiny little cracking , echoed through
The little shell.
The little one looked out onto the world and was awed
By the captivating hues that surrounded him,
Colors every where mixed and rare,
The intoxicating reflection of the blue captured in the sky
Then suddenly there was a cloud that
blocked out the view of the little one
storm clouds thundered and there was a war
blood gushed about and fell on the leaves of that plant
the little one peeking out from his little cocoon
with eyes innocent and bright
pleaded with the creator,
keep me here with you
It is hectic there, in here your embrace
I was kept warm and snug
but don't send me out there
the creator smiled and assured the little one
trust in me and you will be safe,
let the angry ones destroy what they can,
they have forgotten my name
but soon I will show
that murder is not the way to attain my grace
but rather surrender like you did little one,
I created you to be beautiful
do not worry about the predators, they will always be there
but look too at the flowers I put in the garden for your delight
everyone craves what is beautiful, you are rare
you have my blessing, take your flight with care

Eye of the Storm

A storm rages in my soul.
A broken heart, empty
I finally let you go
But now this void, presents
Loneliness my uttermost foe.

A ruthless mind, spurned by grief
Fights with a heart longing,
Wanting to keep you trapped.
Waves of love
Crash
upon the ominous jagged
Rocks of deception.

To hate you, I cannot do,
The unbearable ceaseless salty raindrops,
Pummel from pools of grief onto
Soft memories,
slashing, tearing
Leaving only the bitter driftwood
Pain inscribed.

I look into your eyes the storm is quelled
You do not love me anymore
Of that, I’m sure.
The mind consoles the wounded heart,
Grieving for Loved drowned in the salty sea
I am setting you free.

New love will be born, maybe.
I have one wish for you,
Because I’ve suffered for two,
May this storm steer clear of your course,
And love be safe harbor.
I know that buried under
a sea of tears and regret,
My soul keeps your love forever.


-----------Nandi (11-01-01)

A proposal

Your proposal Sire,
Caused a blush to peek.
I think about you and smile,
The endearments you whispered
Tainted by your proposal.
Yet my heart quickens,
I would Sire, succumb,
And realize your every desire.
For you see darling,
This blush pink in hue
Is but a deception,
Exposed by few.
Masking cravings deep within.
The coupling of insatiable Desire’s greed,
We would gladly feed.
I would accept your proposal Sire
And repay your courtesy due.
But, my alluring liar,
We share a painful secret,
Ah! Your love is untrue.

---------Nandi
10-22-01

Dreams

As the Sun dipped into the sea,
and Moon smiled at the world,
She lay in the darkness listening
To the sighing of her soul.

Tragedies from the day,
slowly faded into nothingness.
Eyes lazily closed,
In an instant as her mind
lost its clutch on her heart
a through a door that
materialized in this stillness
He came.

In this world,
in her dreams he reigned.
Eyes widened in a heartfelt surrender,
this illusion captured in every breath,
every heartbeat called out to him.

In a heart, surrendering,
a shroud of darkness crept in,
smoldering this blossoming dream.
She conceded to the bitter truth.

Where even in her this world
she cannot have him.
She wept painfully, from her soul
Tears began to flow,
sealing the portal forever.

In her heart a dungeon of pain
replaces this dream,
the mortar of grief
bound her to reason.

She is expected to be cast of stone
with a heart, colder than
an arctic chill.

He knows nothing of her fears,
Her tears concealed from him,
Anguish masked by dark eyes.
In his world, she is cruel,
caught up in a web of wicked games,
The passionate knight sighs,
servant to the black queen,
simply a pawn to her corrupt lies...

Once again those eyes close,
and in the weakness of sleep,
for an instant, there is softness
and compassion in that cold heart,
a forgiveness evades the air
and he enters once again.

Nandi 01-02-03

The Route of Her Tears

The drop fell from the leaf
And cataclysmic events were set into motion
Caught in a whirling pool of thoughts
A bond with reality was broken.
Now with a hollow sigh
Tears being their descent
From sore and tired eyes.
The ripple which had born a
Storm of ruthless devastation
Was now but a little puddle
In the tumultuous ocean of pain…

She is tired now,
The battle entreats a truce
A searching heart begs surrender
Pardon this soul, weary from love's abuse
it is sore
A friendless fighter against the world
The heart gave a little plea…

From this love manifested
Behold!
Her eternal touch quells this furious sea
A beacon to innocence, trust illumines the
Memories once shattered, love renewed.

So this renewal, a life completes its cycle,
Her heart grieves now, not for her,
But for her child
As another drop forms
On the leaf of innocence and
Life initiates its lesson
On the unblemished child.

nandi 11-13-02

The Trepidation that War Brings

A Critical analysis of Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum est'

An eye opening poem about war written by Wilfred Owen who was a soldier and died in a War.
he presents his thoughts in this famous poem.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped5 Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas!Gas! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.

Wilfred Owen 8 October 1917 - March, 1918

Wilfred Owen's poem 'Dulce et Decorem est,' presents a very terrifying yet realistic picture of war. In the poem, Owen himself is the speaker and he narrates the revolting death of one of his fellow soldiers. The diction in the poem creates very realistic portraits of misery, fear and death. The images of fear, misery and death created in the poem 'Dulce et Decorem Est' reveal a compelling anti-war theme.
In the first verse of the poem Owen introduces the reader to the miserable lives of the soldiers. An image of an old sickly beggar is created to represent the soldiers' appearance. The first two lines of the poem develops this image as Owen writes "Bent double , like old beggars under sacks...we cursed through sludge". One must keep in mind that these soldiers now appearing to be 'sickly old beggars' are, in fact young men. these lines present the shocking reality of the misery that war has bestowed upon the soldiers. Furthermore, the fatigue and utter hopelessness revealed in the phrases 'trudge', 'limped on', 'all went lame; all blind' , and 'drunk with fatigue' awakens the reader to the deplorable state of the men that is caused by the war.

In the second verse of the poem the mood changes from fatigue to confusion, which then breeds fear. A gas attack is launched on the soldiers and they struggle to get their masks on in time. Owen's use of the continuous tense here snares the reader into the scene, giving a vivid description of confusion with the words 'fumbling',' yelling',' flound'ring' and 'drowning'. We can see the fear in this chaos as Owen says '...flound'ring like a man on fire or lime...,' this simile allows the reader to relate to the fear that the soldiers experienced when they were attacked and it provokes the reader to question the justification of war.

A horrendous image of death is presented in the poem. Once again we notice the use of the continuous tense to imprison the reader in the scene of a soldier's painful and grotesque death. A hideous image of the dying soldier is created in the ghastly appearance of the dying man and the torture that he suffers at the time of death. The imagery here is very forceful as Owen writes "...white eyes writhing in his face," and "...the blood came gargling from the froth corrupted lungs, obscene as cancer..." These vivid images created here are enough to open the eyes of any reader to the plight of the dying soldier and draw compassion for him.

Owen uses these images to enforce his anti-war theme as he states in his final lines, "My friend, you would not tell with such zest to children ardent for some desperate glory, the old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori." The line "Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori" is a Latin phrase and translates to 'it is sweet and honorable to die for the father land'. The reader can now clearly see that the horrid death of the soldier was by no means 'sweet' and the 'honor' derived from his dying is questionable.

This poem very realistically exposes the trepidations that war brings to the lives of the soldiers involved. The misery, fear and horrific death portrayed in the poem quite forcefully create an anti-war theme as the naive reader is now given this ghastly picture of death and misery. One begins to question whether they themselves would be willing to suffer any of the circumstances revealed in this poem or if they would allow their children to suffer it. The irony in the title 'dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori,' contrasts sharply with the events and illustrations presented in the poem revealing the bitter and appalling circumstances that warrants one to once again question the justifications and reasons for war.

Tapestries

There he sits at his wheel,
A tailor spinning a reel,
of uneven thread,
edged with silver and red.

There's blue and green
and lots of yellow,
That brings sunshine
On the day mellow.

A husband and wife,together at last
weaving their thread in his den,
And then leaving,
Sealing their design with a pen.

It is the beginning of a friendship,
started long ago
That will endure as the thread unravels
there will be battles that will be settled.

But for now there is a flower,
That will unfold to bring showers
of gold. A smile for the tailor
That can be matched by no lost sailor.

Because his seat is his throne
And from his thread ,
tapestries are sewn.

Vami
01/09/2002

Rain

there is something comforting,
In the rain.
Fat, voluptous raindrops, pummeling
from the heavens,
Bursting on the razor-edged tips
Of green luscious grass, to
quench the thirst,
of an Ancient mother.
A gleaming merciless blade
slashing through the serenity fo the sky,
A beautiful and deadly,
display of magnificence,
As Thor in his rage,
sends an ironic warning,
And exploding roar barking
'Beware of the lightening.'
This chaos, in the skies is comforting,
As nature is caught,
in her pure raging beauty.
Behind this window,
curious eyes, stare, longing
to be a part of this majestic show.
sorrowfully aware of the limitations
that is man.
So these eyes slowly close,
and a heart races,
with each thunderous roar,
yet finding comfort in the pummeling,
of the Rain.

Nandi
August 2000

The Voice of Sanity

In the night when life sighs
And thoughts begin to haunt man,
whispers of Desire's petals flutter in
As a chilly breeze passes over the strand.

The forbidden fruit of dreams
tempts my sanity
As I envision this path
That blossoms in front of me.

In this mind, Decision spews her wrath,
And a storm begins to brew,
suddenly a silence overwhelms the tempest,
And the raging storm vanishes.

Tendrils of a mystifying dew are left,
As an enthralling song weaves
itself into this silence,
Commanding the attention of all beings.

Into the intense melody of this tune
the righteous and the sinners fall
It is the voice of Sanity, singing to the weak
and beckoning the strong.

She plays this melody to our hearts,
embracing a virtue nestled there,
this ancient voice, gentle like a mother's touch,
yet more alluring than Desire's web.

She commands her subjects,
to listen to this song,
A beacon to the tempest that is life,
fencing the chasm of chaos.

I stop to listen,
And a window of peace materializes
As the Voice of sanity
Echoes through my mind.

Nandi
10-20-02

The Birth of Life

Within the shy bloom,
wide eyes stare, at a
strange world, trapped forever
in the hour of day's romance with night.

the little creature so timid
wanting to soar, on the butterfly's
wide-welocming wings.
But! so aware of that Bird,
the Hunter eying his prey.

A world of intricacy encompasses
this lonely being, nestled within
The soft red cell.
He listens to the voice of the unknown,
In a strange land, where chaos reigns.

It scares the little one,
yet he finds himself wanting
to be part of that madness...

Succumbing to the lure of that
exotic world, helplessly, madly,
whirling within the fury of colors.

Alas! the shy little one withdraws
into his monochrome ,
Tomorrow he whispers ,
wishing, wanting...

Nandi
03/22/04

Wandering Wind

Weary and teary eyed, this traveller
pondered upon a stop.
His clothes beaten and
tattered, with spots,
stains and tears.
yet he toiled upon the sand;
feet bare; no band.
A blister a step for each hand in time
And still no rhythm and rhyme.
Only a walk turned sour,
Apollo glared upon a face gone dour,
Beaten and beyond its years,
These eyes tell a story unique
to our traveller's memory;
of grief and loss and a
life tossed away.
With more pain than gain
yet, even as a solitary tear
meanders down the wrinkled wretched face,
A little whisper of wind wraps
a cloak around drooped shoulders.
Time stops in wonder
A moment of Blunder?
nay!
An oasis, tis seem.
Even through eyes doubtful and keen
while laughter curves and lifts his lips
A moment of glee,
All thanks to a tiny wandering wind
that tickles us all and even Apollo sees
Once again this master becomes a friend indeed
to this friend In need.

Vami

And the Green Eyes Stared...

His evil eyes followed her,
as she sang and played in the field
darkness shrouded him,
he prided himself on being her nemesis
Alas, she was only a child,
still growing, innocent,
Blissfully unaware of the evil predator
Watching, waiting, growing.
He grew, he was but a child too,
Yet the evil burning in his eyes,
Was ancient and green in hue.
where beauty and purity,
enraged , blind fury nourished .
He grew, watching waiting.
She weakned as he stole her breath,
Opportune evil, he saw a chance,
And pounced on her.
Intending to slash her limb from limb,
wanting to destroy her.
Suddenly in a flash of light,
encompassing the darkness,
An old man crept up to him,
And whispered in his ear;
'Listen to me, leave this child,
leave her now! Your fight is with me!'
The Old man and the predator grew,
A battle then ensued.
The old wise one, trust was his name,
Beat the hideous emerald eyed beast,
And sent him away.
He held his child, his beautiful child,
Love was her name.
She was older now and more wise,
Still innocent but not carefree,
Aware now of the evil incarnated
in the flaming green- eyed predator.
Those evil green eyes still burn with rage,
As they linger on the children,
Innocent playing in the meadow.
Alas, But he is wary now,
Because the father broods over his children,
Willing to battle, the green eyed foe,
Sending him back to his lair.

Nandi
10-20-01

It is either black or white

There was black and there was white
The players lined up against each side
but did they notice that some were
perched on black and some on white,
All caught in the dark, none saw the light.
they waited with breath held tight,
unaware of what was day and what was night.
they just focused on that one ,
Neither foe nor comrade
Who was either black or white.
The flag was torn and a move was made,
with the blood of black and white
splilled over into a gloomy grey shade
the blend of black and white,
this did not end the fight, even when
between the shades of grey came
colors of every hue, they still insisted there
was only black or white and sought justice they felt due.
With more pieces falling off the board
as this game is played, sacrificing to a throne
that was neither white, black nor grey,
one king, one queen and so many drones, sadly
the throne changed to the mood of the game
black in the night,white in the day.
The inventor thought for a while
and then with a smile, thought and devised a plan
in came new players, not on the board but in hand,
they called some of them diamonds,
some of them spades
but on that board of black and white
they were still the same aces, jacks and kings
now not black or white, but disguised as diamonds,
clubs, ironically hearts or spades.
The players, true to their nature, expected
there was a revision
on either side of the game,
resulting in a divison , as this game is played.
Now back they are to black and white,
the players are still lined up
against each side,
After bloodshed the board is
filled with a crimson tide,
swallowing the black and white,
An ancient hand makes a move and,
the board is wiped clean
and on either side, white replaces black
and once black is now white.
Yet in a turn of time's swallowing hand
they line up again, black against white
continuing this fight,
they still insist that the dark is light.

Nandi 03-28-06

The Bird and the Tree

The bird perched on the old branch
sighed deeply and questioned the tree,
'Father Oak, why are you so strong?
My family has nested in you for generations,
they have passed and yet you are here.'
'My Child,' the Oak replied
'There is one who gives me the strength,
to protect those whom I love and hold dear,
My duty is to shelter my children,
without question this duty I bear
providing a home for one thousand or ten
giving them warmth, removing their fear.'
'But Father Oak!' the bird excalimed
'I have done nothing for you,
why are you so kind?
Oak without hesitation replied
'Precious child, every morning,
I listen to your charming chirping,
Tis a gift I treasure,
When you accepted me as your protector,
And nested in my heart,
This is all I need, my soul soars,
to know that you child,
came back to me.'

Nandi
10-21-01

Bulleh Shah

Masjid dha de, mandir dha de, dha de jo kucch dainda Par kisi da dil na dhain, Rab dilan vich rehnda..
Tear down the mosque and the temple; break everything in sight But do not break a person’s heart, it is there that God resides -Bulleh Shah

Floating along the Canon

The wind chimes sway gently in the wind
welcoming the storm,
distant clouds pregnant with the
Promise of rain,
Quietly turns to an angry grey
and little creatures peeked out
from within their little holes waiting

In a marriage of Space and Time
after the storm there is deep sadness
when your footsteps have no sound
walking away silently
turning back never again .

You were snatched by the night,
Your laughter lost in the wind
An anguished heart is calling out,
Crying out to the liberated soul,
just one more glance, one more touch,
one more moment to experience a life, a love,
A pain unimaginable, its intensity more scorching
than the fiery pits in the chasm of a wild fire,
yet surrendering to it like the wildest passion.

Bonded two hearts broken in space
re-united in time, turn around,
do not enter the night.
I am searching for you
do not fade away, come back.
This pain impails agony to the soul
nights become endless ,
living a nightmare of solitude and agony
days do not exist,
they are overshadowed
by the night, that night you walked into
you became the night then,
the night became you, So
there I will stay, waiting at its mouth
In this insufferable void
Waiting for you to come back.

Nandi

listening to Pachebel's canon Brainstorming:D 03-17-06
here is a link to a beautiful flute and violin version of Pachebel's canon
canon

	Pachelbel - Canon - Harp & Flute .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Desire's Flame

I listen to the song of my soul,
The call that beckons my heart,
A fire that destroys the cold,
Desire blazes when we're apart.
If love is a craft,
Desire binds and ties,
I've mastered the art,
I'm drowning in your eyes.
A wicked wave forms,
Battering the soul,
The heart mourns,
Breaking love's hold.
The cruel heart plays a wicked game,
Love consumed in desire's flame.
------------Nandi
(10-20-01)

The colors of the Rain

The colors of the rain, exploding
In a shower of glistening gems
Like tears from heaven, chanting
To the weary soul a requiem.

Like an ancient shattered crystal,
The raindrops fell capturing every color
Falling softly on the rose’s red petal
Stopping the lone wanderer in awe.

Liquid crystals reflecting a beauty,
The yearning in his heart grew
Temporal-Each drop narrating
A chapter of a story, ancient yet new,

Then for an instant in that one drop
Of liquid crystal, time was stilled
By the tale trapped within each color
Narrating itself, those dark eyes beheld.

The raindrops changed their rhythm
In a play orchestrated by Nature
Playing to the tune of silver anklets
And Time slowly faded away.

A buried torment was unearthed,
Mirrored upon the falling drops, the intensity
of the ache the solitary lover felt
In the iridescent reflection of a frozen tear,

Laughter was captured in mid octave
In the memory of that moment,
Even the warrior cannot be brave
Imbibing a sensual risk so potent,

A heart beating rhythmically
Synchronized with the crescendo of desire,
Orchestrating the release of every
Crystal drop, breaking upon the briar.

Of thorns woven into the delicate
Fabric of a life bound to his soul, but
Dealt a cruel hand in a game of faith
The silver anklets echoed.

What anguish he did perceive,
In that moment arrested in time,
To fathom the thought he did conceive
The fluttering of kisses, sublime.

Forbidden, yet with conflict,
Within a stubborn soul, treasured
In a dazzling display of color
Their depth and intensity un-measured

A many faceted diamond, trapped in that drop,
A dream, colorful yet unformed,
An unborn thought, struggling to manifest
Itself onto the guarded mind.

The colors of the rain, like a specter
Existing for a second in time,
Weaving a ghostly canvas
The cold wind sang sweet rumors,

The showers saddened by his plight
Stopped, releasing this lone lover,
A tear colored by the rain
Reflecting a tale of yearning,
And Love witnessed and felt
Forever eternal, caught in the rain.

Nandi----January 2006

Her Poetry

Awakened from her deep slumber,
By the mournful plea of lovers,
She arose, silently and gracefully,
With the splendor of a sun rising,
She laughed softly and held her pen

Destiny smiled to herself,
A flicker of mischief glowed in her eyes.
She toyed with the ties
that bound their souls,
teased their mind and fanned,
anguish brewing within their hearts.
With an expression glowing
with compassion, she wrote…

In a sliver of weakness
that crept through a fort of steel,
A solitary ember ignited
a surreptitious yearning,
That birthed a little ripple
in the rebellious soul.
In the complexity of a wish,
the illusion of a dream
Desire bloomed, suffocating reality.
Like a crimson rose, an ancient elixir
It lured the restless soul
into the unforgiving chasm of love.
The precious nectar, brewed
of forbidden fruit enticed her,
She cried out to him ...


The ancient ink flooded,
a worn and fragile parchment,
melting into it, immortalizing Love,
trapping her, within
the very thread of the parchment,
a mystical ink binding her...

She smiled at the submission
of her player, and with a twinkle in her eye,
looked toward the other…

In a stoic plane, restlessness was born
Immortal friction between two grains of sand,
ignited a desire that
engulfed the composed mind.

A passion brewing within
An infinitesimal cell erupted,
ripping through a dreary silence,
breaking his shackles of apathy, and
Sanctioning a trickle of passion into his being.

What was once the struggling rivulet,
grew, engulfing him, drowning him in a
raving ocean of his thought.
A justly wicked notion, conspiring freedom
sprung from a feral obsession
slashing the eternal bondages of his mind.
Feverishly he imbibed passion's potion
drinking this intoxicating concoction...
He beckoned to her...

So she laughed, and smiled,
her players succumbed to the game.
Weariness overcame her,
laying down her pen, she closed the book.
She looked on happily
as the players acted out their lines
Flawlessly, completing the script,
inscribed the passion of her poetry
in the immortal sands of time.


Nandi 03 - 14 - 05