When clouds begin to gather
yarns of night from the rainforest;
when the wind roams drunk
at the promise of a wet storm;
when mountains wake up
even closer to my window;
when it has rained all night
and the moon is too drenched to walk home;
when the trees by the Lake
paint their nails pale and pink;
and when all of my life’s decision have been taken
in black and white ink…
…..there still remains a drive up the mountains,
a fight over a pastry,
seventeen hundred and seven songs,
and one sleep on your shoulder
Awaited….
forever.
yarns of night from the rainforest;
when the wind roams drunk
at the promise of a wet storm;
when mountains wake up
even closer to my window;
when it has rained all night
and the moon is too drenched to walk home;
when the trees by the Lake
paint their nails pale and pink;
and when all of my life’s decision have been taken
in black and white ink…
…..there still remains a drive up the mountains,
a fight over a pastry,
seventeen hundred and seven songs,
and one sleep on your shoulder
Awaited….
forever.
Paintings courtesy: 1. In The Pink, courtesy http://www.ldianejohnson.com/
2. The Palma Collection; Getty Images
Dear Balpreet
ReplyDeleteMy desire of a poem was so much fulfilled in the individual lines that i would like to avoid commenting upon the poem itself. This is truly a love-poem. You may say why the other ones are not but this time the sheer innocence of images got hold of me.
sunil