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
Friday, March 31, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
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
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
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
Saturday, March 25, 2006
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
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
Friday, March 24, 2006
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
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
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
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 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
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
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
Friday, March 17, 2006
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
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 |  |
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