Sunday, 21 October 2012

Sunbeam Reign


 Sunbeam Reign

I do not have the eyes of a poet
but on days like this I cannot miss;
Your golden fleece lowered down to me,
Laughing, waving, beckoning for a kiss.

You turn away your teasing eyes, but I follow;
With rickety but firm steps the echo of your footfalls.
Scintillating in your simple gown of white clouds but you show me,
shyly, your glory, your delicate strength, as you stand there so tall.

And then you burst into a thousand fiery blooms, blushing a deep scarlet;
You know, you hear, the sounds you fear, you shudder as the sky turns violet.

Its war, you know you cannot win, your fire is out;
Your tears run endlessly caressing the wounds of the world.
The sky shattered by the merciless lightening, grieves to you quietly;
The fierce, cold thunder : you fight on barely with love.

And then a deafening silence engulfs,
Your land, your kingdom, lost in a tearstained battle.

And amidst the chilly mist you rise again,
A maiden, modest in her beautiful morning garb,
Claiming what was always yours, gently spreading your golden mane;
Over lands and seas, lush and vast, where,
songbirds will sing and waves will dance,
The wind will flirt with the silken coy leaves,
Lovers will love, sheltered in your sunbeam reign.


Tuesday, 2 October 2012

Symphonies On Soggy Saturdays

Its raining gently. The kind of drip drop that keeps you company when you can't fall asleep after a long day, the kind of pitter patter that wakes you up earlier that you wanted to and makes you smile with your head buried in the sheets. An hour back i was lying flat on the bed, listening to the rain singing, and I knew exactly what would best accompany it. So i lay on my stomach and played some symphonies.
  Mozart began. The rain stumbled, then paused respectfully. No one speaks when Wolfgang Amadeus plays, the rain knew the rules only too well. The powerful strains of symphony 25 took control of the air. A restless, vast ocean emerged, growing everything mercilessly in it. The moist remains of the rain blended in quietly in the ocean, giving it a rich blue tinge. As the higher tones set in, a wave rose. Leapt to the highest levels ever, and fell forward with a grace and fullness, a magic that only Mozart wield. Listen for the instantaneous dips and turns, the thrill that builds up, the elation that fills you to the brim. The ocean trotting slowly toward the end. skipping and thinning. To a glorious waterfall. From where it trickles down, like bits of rain. An ocean converged to blue pieces of rain. Symphony 25.
  The ocean poured down. It slapped against the glass of my little window, vying for my attention, blowing wet kisses. But Beethoven was quicker. He took over me with the opening noted of symphony 5.  As the cascading melodies wrapped around my head tightly, the raindrops winked and fell away. I was not in the room anymore, the soggy saturday was gone. I was hooded, riding a black horse, the dogs of war had been let loose. Symphony 5 took me places, to deserts and dark forests, places where i was lost and found again. the rain brought me back each time. Beethoven played stormily, passionately.  The fragile raindrops trembled under his wrath. And then there was silence, more dramatic then ever.
  I closed my eyes to the silence. Downpour. The suppressed raindrops ran down to embrace their new found freedom. The thunder sang bass. They played their own symphony, a musical storm.