GRACEFUL HEART!

What dream, what hope, what despair drives one to chase after love, a cruel tyrant as she is?
The ageless rhetoric cast in sands of time.

Love has it's own logic, just as it has it's own foolishness.
'tis ironical that as tides of time ebb, the mystery of love is what we all become; and I became.

My beating heart, snatched in both her hands,
' took off quicker than a wild mare,
' sprang after her, spell bound, breathless and burning brightly with determination; anchoring the wild chase on hope,
Chasing after the heart held hostage in her hands.

O! Alas!
My spirited pursuit drowned me in the warm streams of her essence,
All of me dissolved into the flowing stream of her grace, beauty and the magic of her loveliness,
The chase to rescue a striken heart became a treasure hunt for a mythical pot of gold at the edge of the western rainbow.

She grew upon me, she did,
Her intuitive perception, the winning fascination in her manners and something imperial in her pose; an exquisite natural charm.
My affection, true, vast and permanent as the sky, likewise captured.

I love her for the richness and surpassing excellence of her mind,
I love her with a fervour and truth of affection which speech and words cannot express.

How happy is my lot! Blessed with such a graceful soul for a wife.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An ice-queen I love!

The moon will be abashed, the sun ashamed, If on such a day I fail to open my floodgates and scribble this confessional melody. Every morning, as mist is swept away and dawn is spread across the mountains, These mornings, her steps trample the ground in hurried fashion, Paces accustomed to vision and focus! From distant safeness, my gaze captures her frame swaying away like a hut in the wind, To where? I wonder! For sure dusk will find me in my usual post of watch, Awaiting the replenishing sight of she as she trods back. I speak of none but of a ship that secretly trades her wares in my waters of infatuation, All that swims the path of the seas of passion, in mine they desist, For she alone I let! This African W.O.M.A.N I so drool! Yet, the smile of a stone! Warmness by her is a dead valley, for she is an ice-queen! As heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the expressions of suitors her way are stilled by she! Even the islands in the sea are terrified at
Read more

A LETTER TO MY LADY (I miss you every day)

Sweet silent thoughts, I reminisce my Muse, These crafted poetic words strip every beauteous thought, And reserve them as a letter to my lady. Far, across seas you are, Your absence debars me the benefit of joy, Days are oppressive and nights do not ease either, Each, though enemies to either's reign, do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain of the absence of your warmth. The quiet of the nights keeps my drooping eyelids open wide, My soul's imaginary sight presents thy shadow to my sightless view, How I envy those who are in favor with their stars and are in the arms of their beloved! Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, I miss you every day. Your eyes have played the painter and have stolen me, Your body is the frame wherein I am held, Now see what good those eyes have done, Those eyes are windows to my heart, Wherethrough the sun delights to peep, to gaze therein on me. Those eyes I miss. You have taken all
Read more

Your Father Did Not Belong to Your Mother’s Tribe (Tribe of Love)

Daughter of mine, The world is so dark without your laughter, The laughter of a child that lights up a house, Without you, darkness engulfs us whole, Your laughter can’t be heard, All because your father did not belong to your mother’s tribe! My daughter, Your father thinks of you every minute of the day, That’s all he can do, think of how you would have turned out to be, Dream of just how much he would have treasured swinging you in the air and catch you in his arms, While you scream in joy and call him ‘papa’ But then my daughter, it is just a dream, Because your father did not belong to your mother’s tribe! You, my angel without wings, my daughter, A pencil and a paper, claim the caresses of your father’s hands in your absence, As he tells the world tales that he should be telling you, Telling the world why you were never birthed, Telling the world why your mother fancies your father no more, Baby, your father did not belong to your mother’s tribe! May I ask my
Read more