As night descends, I sit under the light of the moon. A face circles inside twilight's greeting. Words whisper as they are swept away into the silken waterfall of illusion. A pause in the gap of time becomes nostalgic dust.
Below, the dark night pond will immerse every phrase letter by letter as they fall away into the unknown. The wind is compassionate as I drift to the tip of the earth to observe their meaning. It whispers of tomorrow’s kiss.
Life is not a book but a performance. Dreams are glamorous realities filled with gossamer thoughts. Wishes dance inside our minds as reality becomes the braided channel of life that runs deep inside our veins. Embrace each moment that you dare to dream.
nostalgique réalité
June 26, 2009
5 comments:
reading your lines, I felt as if I am walking through an aisle, where, from either sides, strings of flowers were hung. I gently push aside each string of gentle fragrance, only to find the next one caressing my face. Soothing write, though, a sorrowful violin plays somewhere in the background....
Thank you Balan, you do have a way with words...
You have written something different. Shall I call this poetry or prose I don't know, but I am captivated. Well written......
Thank you so very kindly for your visit prithvi. I am not sure what to call some of my work other than just simple feelings at the time. A place in my mind that only I can go. I will pay you a visit also....
Post a Comment