When the light comes floating

 When the light comes floating,

 the odd corners shine, 

shadows bristle, multiply, speak.

 A language is born. 

Illusions reveal some hidden truth

 I have yet to know

 and feel their warmth before the day 

ascends and erases the magical flow.

Jun 29, 2017



September rain falls somewhere on the river stream.
The city flows on the tracks.
And somewhere in the city, a pensive dream
grows behind the window screen.
The curtain stirs, and someone who has chosen to stay
back at home to clean the cobwebs gathered long,
tosses the curtain aside.
The wind rushes in, sweeps across the room.
the rain and the wind, the wind and the sun,
and the sun swinging in on the cloud's wings;
there is no room for the woman's plaintive notes.
This is not the way the rain should come.
On her guard, circumspect,
she watches the world washed up clean,
The pools of the rain water
have not grown murky yet,
but the pigeons are hiding sluggishly
worrying over the disappearance of the crumbs of bread.
A mysterious caravan follows the rain,
from the land of wind-driven dust
to the land of unpredictable river beds.

Thank you Souheil Ghammachi for the image and the empathy

Originally shared by Souheil Ghammachi

It's a sad and rainy day, but what other kind of day is there?
Rain hits the window, and bursts (Like my heart at the seams)
Howling wind blows away any happy dreams.
I look at the once sunny, desolate, lifeless land.
Then I feel something cool on my hand.

~ Alexander Smith "Rainshine"

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• 
  Souheil Ghammachi+1

  Thank you +Sushama Karnik
  for writing your beautiful lines
  as a comment on my post...

  REPLY

  
  Jun 29, 2017

  
• 
  Sushama Karnik+1

  You are welcome +Souheil Ghammachi deep thanks

  REPLY

  
  Jun 29, 2017

  
• 
  Shantha Hulme+1

  'unpredictable river beds' love the flow of thought, and sound of
  poem...
  +Sushama Karnik...
  these moods I like and the image
  too... a nostalgia...
  thanks +Souheil Ghammachi
  you select well.

  REPLY

  

 You will never know that your soul travels sweetly sheltered in the bottom of my heart,

And that nothing, neither time nor age nor other loves, will prevent you from existing.

Now the beauty of the world takes your face, feeds on your sweetness, and adorns with your brightness.

The pensive lake in the background of the landscape reminds me of your serenity again.

The paths you followed, today point out to me the

mine, although you will never know that I take you with me like a golden lamp to light my way

Your voice still penetrates my soul. Soft torch your rays, sweet fire your spirit;

"You still live a little because I survive you."

Margaret Yourcenar 31/10 2022

Thanks to Rebeca Barcenas for sharing

AMoment Of Grandeur

A moment of grandeur
as the towering wave broke on the rock,
the surf sprayed my body,
and that was the moment when
the sailing boat I watched
counting the hours,
sailed past the setting sun
and the sky was set on fire.

Thank you +Anna .a 

 NordSigal, Jr. originally shared:

Amazng Siunset

#sunset   #sunsetphotos   #sunsetlovers  

The first sharp ray

rips the curtain apart.

The mango tree has blossomed.

A heady fragrance,

a hint of gold in the midst of green.

The sounds invade the world around.

A woodpecker is frantically busy.

chiselling away with speed

at the bark of the peepul tree.

My heart, inhale the world coming to life.

The smouldering has ceased.

The morning has transformed the fumes

into a crisp air, the aroma of summer wind.

This small hour stands still

like a child waiting to be hugged back in love

 Alone on this windy day

between pain and prayers,

held between oasis and mirage

the boat sways.

Seeking a landing space

beyond the space of poetry. .

It's the season of mangoes

outside the window,

not yet ripe,

the raw smell haunts.

Dreams within dreams 

I have lived in them long.

Between them passed the years ,

pointing always to a goal.

Were it not for what existed

all along the way, despite the lure,

something like the scent of the unripe mango,

I would have lost the way.

Sad, that life does not move like poetry

a ticketless travel on unspecified roads

to embark any day, and to disembark with no regret.

 A wine buried  under the earth,

a passion locked;

and the key thrown away in the sea.

God was napping when He drew the road-map.

Taking the wrong turn 

I wandered in the dark.

With regret in heart

I searched for the key.

A wine that lay under earth has ripened

I am dizzy.

The lost time is lost

The orchards got baked and burnt

Out there the sky is aglow.

The first ray has ripped apart

the curtain has flown

The wind enters.

The unending road.

I hate to go to bed.

Lying on my back 

warming the bed

It 's a furnace now.