It resembles a mirage. On a canvas so large. They call it life. That illusion so rife. Never mind its name. They say it is all in a game. Seems so unbelievably eternal. But it is only the end that is real.
Me, me!!!
- Sepiamniac
- Madras, TAMIL NADU, India
- Not an outdoor person.. prefer to get buried beneath books, music and movies... has these strange philosophies about life that might puzzle you. At the same time, likes to live life. Loves simple people, especially those who veil their formidable knowledge behind humility (The poems here don't reflect my mind or anyone else's. Maybe, just a patch of what various people go through.)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Purple flower
I waited for this day and Iam so glad it is here.
It feels like everything I asked for is so near.
The purple flower, a witness, to my days of happiness.
I stand all day, frantically looking for that one face.
Nowhere in sight, but the hope to find it intact.
The purple, a witness, to my days of endless wait.
I cry out in despair, a feeling of emptiness sinks in.
A pain shoots through the forlorn heart.
The purple flower starts to tremble, as if echoing my pain.
I fervently wipe away my dried up tears.
Fold my pain laden heart; try to break away from memories.
The purple flower starts to wither away.
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where do you draw your inspiration from??
ReplyDeletejst struck me.. thought i shud pen my thoughts down...:)
ReplyDeleteJans!
ReplyDeleteI've a request, the live traffic feed on your page hides the first part of your lines, making it difficult to read...could you please do something abt that?
nimmi, it is done :) thnks figured a way out
ReplyDeleteoh yes! now thats surely better! Thank you...and I liked the purple blossom standing in 'not- so mute' testimony to the changing emotions of the poetess...
ReplyDeletethnk u :)
ReplyDeletehey this is cool ...
ReplyDelete