Saturday, May 2, 2009

Mon ami.....

Three past the bewitching hour,

And the time is come, for all,

That is mine.


The tender zephyr,

That dandles my hair.


The gentle cream of that distant orb –

That oldest of my loves, whose gaze is a ceaseless armour,

Upon my timid soul.


The tiny beads of white flames,

That shower upon me the hushed luminosity of their adoration –

An urgent beckoning.


That ebon veil, with folds of smoky grey -

Ushers in an eternity’s worth of camaraderie.


I step outside my house,

And into my home.


The quietude – a reprise of the womb whence I sprung -  

A sober whisper of reassurance.


Three past the bewitching hour,


Mon ami est là.











anhad said...

klash would be blind if you lose this time. . .
Good work

Wise_Old_Man said...

you have outdone yourself with this!
Lovely poetry. sublime visulaisation.

Var said...


nj... said...

fantastic varnika!!! its a pity, i missed knowing you better in school :) loved the versing :)

Var said...

Thank you, nj.
I'm sure it's a pity I missed knowing you as well.
Just one question though -
Naseem? :-/

nj... said...

yup! naseem :)