It’s past midnight and here I sit down and wonder
Is there anything in this world to stay for ever?
I guess no, that is why death is the only bona fide
Death of emotion; death of love; death of friendship,
And hence everything goes to slumber.
The love of a young maiden is raw and crude
It is as simple as the morning bird’s song,
But simplicity is not what people seek.
Alas, the morning bird is not treasured but the nightingale is,
So the young maiden sits and broods.
A little birdie sits over her slender shoulder,
Whispers “love is a mystery that not a soul can solve”
But she still sits and tries to figure out the puzzle of love and life
Till she hears a faint voice singing at the other corner of the land
“Wise men say, only fools rush in……”
Thus both the cries grow fainter.
1 comment:
well.....i simply loved this piece of poetry. So simple, yet so beautiful n so true.Its appeal lies in its simplicity....but as the poetess has very rightly said, no one seeks simplicity nowadays...bcuz the so called intellectuals who live in a pretentious utopia, try to show off their intellect by creating and critically appreciating abstract and uncomprehendable stuffs. But literature is not about showing off, its a means of self exploration, a synergy of thoughts and expressions. Very good work shrim...keep it up!! I m proud of u !! :-)
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