A boat
Came along
On an obscure day of the week
Some say it was a Sunday
For the translucent scent
Of white lilies
Yet others can’t remember
They meet at the boxers’ enclave
Sifting yellow calendars of oil paintings
Old ladies peep in
Through the limestone windows
For a pinch of gossip
A crack in the wall
Desperate for a story to tell
But it evades
Mind plays
3 comments:
wow! really, very much philosophical! But, plz, give such soul-foods in regular intervals!
Silica, hottie that you are. I wonder what or who inspires your poems?? Is it Aurobindian Singularity- The Evolutionary Godhead Who Will manifest Himself in the world? or something else???
Yes, mind plays...
Mind plays
The symphony of strife
In the calm of noise
The song of love
On the blade of a knife
The steel cold world
And the ruthless life
Senseless existence made worthwhile
The glimmering hope dying in exile
The future has none of the past
Yet we look back in hope, lost
To find the key to tomorrow
And return with dusty hands
The Sun rises in the east
And, again, it does
See, we can predict, the mind yells
And there we go, yet again
Bobbing back and forth
Hope floats
No matter what who says
Oh! The game the mind plays...
____
That was a beautiful poem you wrote there. This is a skeptical, and rather sad response. Whatever came naturally...
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