And heavily, once,
he lifted his eyelids
The map in front of him
was in flames
So were his senses
He slept
in the lap of time
In his mind,
he undressed
Thirsty
for a glass of moonlight,
with his eyes closed
he asked me to look into him
I did.
He was overflowing with what he yearned
There was fervor
there was shine
there were bruises
and there was him.
Shringi
29 April, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A Peep
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I like the poem. but I like idea of an emotional or physical crisis rather than death, for a self-perceiving context.
ReplyDeleteLove this. Simple, craving and puts the wave across to reach deep without bending.
Thank you. death of the spirit I meant.
ReplyDeletewithout bending, Soumya.