Thursday, October 26, 2017

Santosh Bakaya writes



Section 12

Like a soft breeze, someone whispered in my ear, 
“Do not be confused, stranger dear, oh hear, hear!  
Hush, there are love songs throbbing in the air.
Notes of a melancholic song of a world unfair.

"She can be seen wandering in the jungle in a daze  
Making her way through the meandering maze. 
'When you look at the sky, you’ll remember me.' 
These words of the girl slough through every tree.

"The sharp stones no longer cut into her bare feet,
But birds are her friends who chirpily greet  
The blue eyed beauty who is so sad and alone  
Loitering in the jungle hiding many a moan.

"On her forearm a bruise, on her forehead a scar,
In her eyes frozen tears, everything is bizarre.  
Haters had brutally killed a love so sublime.
A story of love had morphed into a hate crime.  

"When one looks at the agitating waters of the river  
One sees a phantasmagoria of figures, all a quiver,
Faces arrayed in beautiful smiles dancing around  
With strains of some love-laced music bound.

"Impassively she sits, sun rays careening off her hair,
Her beautiful face no longer suffused in lines of care.  
There is a beatific expression on her charming face  
She looks at the sky, ah, she is a picture of grace.

"Then slowly emerges the boy at a very fast pace,
Looks lovingly at the girl, taking her in an embrace.  
The blue eyed beauty is once more in his arms
Away from leers and a wicked world’s vile harms."

I looked around for the owner of the voice 
But was distracted by some chaos and noise.  
The disembodied voice was no longer heard 
But instead I could hear the chirp of a bird. 
 Image result for fog paintings
 Iron Mountain Fog -- Randall David Tipton

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