Neither my hands
that hold the pen
Nor my mind
fleeting insane
Not even my heart
that doesn't miss
an occasion
to skip a beat
Nor my eyes shortsighted
inept at seeing
anything far enough
from the bread
None of them have
or ever will
get the credit
for even half-a-word I scribe
In the vast blankness
devoid of intent
A few clouds trying to
sculpt a portrait
In the mountains unmoving
meditating in stillness (immense)
In the flight of the birds
from the stillness of mountains
to the emptiness of skies
In the trees that leave
not a leaf of tidings
go past them unseen
In the chirp of a cricket,
in the symphony of a fountain
and in the incessant babble
of a creek rambling past
a gravelly trace/ terrain
In the moon's playing
hide and go seek
Hiding in the night,
seeking out the dreams
I hesitate to unsee
Stories, songs, runes and rhymes
Poems, lyrics, verses and sonnets
Reaching the skies, filling the air
waiting for anyone to partake
I am a mere thief
who lets them
without sneaking my shadow
upon their beauty unsullied.
Comments