Of azure blood, stellar blue
and Sunday's indolent finery.
An impenetrable charm,
with shades of moss on the walls
A sensuous excuse to collect inclement ashes of today.
The clouds are recluses,
Parched raindrops swoop to their lowest tip on the ground,
An esteemed peacock struts about on the balcony,
as all temerity comes of age.
An interplay of mischief and inhibitions.
On the balcony where the mirror of our prime is set
as we admire our youthful selfhood.
Our slender, cushioned skins dipped with the last drop of early morning dispositions.
Do I mention my last bad dream where my books burned in a wildfire and you were inflamed in obscurity?
My art was charred
and your candid look from afar was in mortal remains.
It was only a dream.
No caustic need for mediation between desires and the lack thereof.
No rolled up sleeves or collars up.
No humanitarian evaluation of our distinct fire,
burning and aflame.
Today,
our azure blood wears a casual charm
and I am at your balcony's edge,
on the cusp of an unknown union.
......................................................
YOU ARE READING
WHISTLING CHIMES
PoetryTHIS IS AN ASSORTMENT OF POEMS THAT VARY IN MOOD, THEME AND VISION. VERSATILITY IS MY COMMON AIM AND I HAVE POURED OUT MY HEART AND SOUL INTO EACH OF THESE WORKS. I HOPE MY VISION FINDS A MIRROR IN YOUR HEARTFELT RESPONSES. LET THIS POETIC JOURNEY...
