In the Quietude

The Quietude after the First rays of the Sun on the Snow


Swaying between the white rage of snow
and the scorching brilliance of the red hot glow
of the sun gazing in torment below
at the rooftops and streams
languishing  for the warmth that will melt
the long white shadow
of the delayed winter song,
your mind attains slowly
a poise and beauty.
You, the queen of the snowy peaks
of mountains soaring in the sky,
how supreme is your luster and shine! I can only gaze and guess at the range of your flight and depth,
and marvel and return,
back to my base camp
and go back to sleep and dream
in the languor of the songs you sing.

THE MIST SPEAKS

The Mist Speaks

Fogs and mists of rainy days,
strangely inspire a faith,
The depression melts and merges with the fog still far away
from where I stand on the distant point of the hill,
heightens the mystery, deepens the wonder.
Here the rains hiss and toss
the fragile curtains and rush in the drops;
the leaves of the pages flutter.
I have no need to read,
nor is there an urge to write.
The general silence all around,
and the strange sounds I couldn't have heard
come alive,
pervade the air
in swelling and ebbing cadences.

the mighty wind forces the window open;
I have no need to shut it again.
the hills of the farthest region come in view,
the whole hill otherwise hidden in a cloud
shimmers through the fog and stands aloft in a majestic height.

Deep sounds of a ritual drum
become deeper still in the layers of the cloud,
clashing cymbals and the sonorous chorus
of priests reciting prayers in the sanctuaries
draw closer and closer in the foggy wind.
muffled and deep yet as they catch
the resistance of the disbelief.

The forces of dissolution,
of transformation,
I yield to them in awe.
And strangely, I do not fear.
Protection, seclusion and security,
pervades and surrounds.
By no apparent logic I understand
the world of sounds not heeded before.

THE CHILD OF THE MORN

The Child Of The Morn

A knock at the door;
an early morn;
 little marks
of little feet,
mud splashed on the window sill;
surely some child was here for a while.
I know how to call her back!
I will write the name in the mud-bath ,
on the sun-soaked window-pane.
The child will stare
with the faraway look
that seems not to heed
the hand that wrote.
But be certain that the name will ring a bell
The child has a name the child knows not.
But the fairy of the twilight will whisper it for me,
and tomorrow I shall hide here
behind the window, behind the raw leaves of the palmy day
and watch the secret language of the child
unfold at the heart the core of delight

Tanya Dimitrova originally shared:

THE CORAL

THE CORAL
This coral in my palm
lived thousands of leagues under \
and thousands of aeons before,
in the depth of time and the sea.
Washed by the waves and hidden by the dark
of the ocean's infinite moods,
it simply lay in the silent waters,
always dreaming of the sky.
The sky never knew what the ocean held
in its deepest womb, the seed of life not touched by the sun.
And sometimes the rays must have filtered down
and must have felt the coral's skin.
These are the ancient memories
the coral has saved
of a hand that reached and felt it live
and breathe the strangest word
that the sunbeam spoke and the ocean heard

Perversity

Perversity

I wander into your neglected garden often,
and you may not ever know.
I do it for the sheer perversity ,
of being a treacherous moon
spying on your secrets,
savouring the spice of your acrid humor
when you think I am not listening.
Your raucous laughter, suppressed laughter,
your laughter which hides nothing and reveals nothing.
You hide your treasures so meticulously
behind random thoughts which you may not ever use,
storing them away like a miser, and then I envy you , even hate you.
I want to appropriate all of your garden,
but what will I do to those indelible marks people have left
on the empty benches and the soiled walls
with those strange inks that can't be erased?
Your garden treasures them all.

Calculator : Machine In My Life : Fifth Day of the Image Challenge

Calculator
I don't know how I would fare in the world without your rapid action which would take me hours of struggle with the horrid numbers.
Thanks +Ms. Bella Dawn F.  for inviting me to join. It was a pleasure

Escalators : Fourth day of the image challenge :Machine In My Life

Escalators
Many a secret I have shared with you,
Escalator, my inevitable, awesome friend of the postmodern world,
my embarrassment, my hidden fears of scaling heights
without the trusted friend before you came on the scene and drove him out,
my trusted friend with whom I played in childhood : the staircase of the olden days.