Sunday, May 1, 2011

seasonal love







He says
I am a rainfall
that he loves to wear on those days when
he feels lonely gazing at a faraway horizon;
I am a dew drop
that he loves to caress on those special occasions
when he is alive and positive;
I am an autumn sky
that he fancies to look at while listening
to his favorite Beethoven;
I am a silver moonlight
that he allows to be in his patio on a favorite holiday;
I am his sunshine,
I am his rainbow,
only on those special hours,
only on a few quiet times
when he indulges himself to be happy.

But
rainfall is seasonal;
dew drop and the golden brown autumn sky
often misplace themselves in the hustle bustle of sky scrapers;
the eclipsed moon or the feeble sunrays keep struggling for survival among the numberless cancerous folds of life;
and the rainbow loses its hue in the gray corners;
those quiet special moments and silent unusual days
remain very few too,
being swallowed-up among the usual clatter and clang.



8 comments:

Rose said...

seasonal love - when he indulges himself to be happy - those quiet special moments and silent unusual days remain very few too, being swallowed up ... Another beautiful write, loved it:) Sad but beautiful!

ayala said...

This is beautiful. At first it's magical and then reality awakens you to it being fleeting....

The Unknowngnome said...

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

In sickness and in health.....

"the eclipsed moon or the feeble sunrays keep struggling for survival among the numberless cancerous folds of life"

Mary said...

A good poem about the inevitability of change.

Tulika Verma said...

Beautiful again! Loved it :)

Andy said...

Simply beautiful. I like the dreamy feel of seasonal love and then the reality at the end.

Old Raven said...

This is a lovely metaphor and poem.

Celestial Dreamz said...

^ thanks guys