Thursday, October 16, 2008

mandira sharma edited - i don't get it but it's a good poem - maybe about mother or place or city or nation or lover?

When the days are about her
'She' is in all her form,
When the rose is her
And so is the thorn.

I lie there under her Blue,
I am surrounded with freedom,
Now true, I am now grounded,
I know my elements,
I don't belong to the fragile supplements,
I am part of her, I was 'Born'.

With her it's easy,
To think of the 'Infinite',
Rhyme becomes breezy,
Close my eyes, I just might.

But it's never a complete darkness with the sun,
And it's never a complete daylight when it's all done.

I toss between 'Life' and 'Me',
They are not the same, I am sure,
'She' can be with me and I with she,
But life knows how to lure.
It drags me to the edge
And then releases !
But she is the pitching wedge,
A lofting stroke, yes, please.
The game begins again and I run,
Wire, maze, player, all that's done.
But will I return, oh yes, I will !
Will I return, oh yes, I have to !
Game of ladder and bill,
Somethings I can never do.

Clock strikes mid-night,
They run inside the caves,
For it's the time of monsters, silly plight,
For if you open your eyes in the days,
Their silhouettes are visible in broad light.
The night is scarred for ever,
But it belongs to her,
And she is so soft, oh yes, sir !
Then why all that terror ?
The match sticks strike,
There is light,
Darkness and her now alike,
There is still freedom if I might.
Rhyme has a different meaning now,
Life is not the 'Belligerent',
Me not 'Neutral', that I vow,
For now I am as indifferent
To her, as life to 'me' and 'how'.

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