A Poet becomes a verb, seeing things in a divergent light, waltzing along the boulevards of nature as she/he picks up inspirations from life. And shines light into the garden of dawn, or sometimes into the thick of the midnight.
This Poem is for all those who would just do anything to watch the Sunrise, sometimes at the beach, from a valley, on the terrace or just anywhere. It's for those who love Dawn and eagerly wait to see this transitional hour, when it appears like, two worlds collide and transcend into the sky.
I have tried to capture the experience, of this moment where Darkness lets the Light make love to it, when Dawn is taken over by the Sun's passion. Because of the length I had to split it into Part I and Part II.
Those of you who know me, know that it's going to be worth it. (Real fun starts in Part II)
Ceaseless chatter and banter of stridulating-noisy-Crickets,
Has me stumbling out of bed, I peep through the blinds.
"Is it time for dusk?", I query the bugs on the pickets.
Irked by my heckling, of the "ungodly hour", a Stick Bug reminds.
When the comfort of my bed stoops low to seduce me,
A Snowy Owl with flush-fur, fully drenched and dipped in snow,
Swoops and perches by my window onto the bamboo banister.
Bugs Startled and halted, scattering and fearing the sinister owl.
"Must thank a diabolic-peevish owl for the silence I suppose?"
"You'd rather prefer my owlet stays hungry as it grows?"
"Hmmm! Is it time for dusk?", I query the raptor on my window sill.
He hoots, "Don't go back to sleep, come dawn has secrets to spill".
We went where a snake slid camouflaged in a garden and hushed.
Watchful eyes of the feral owl marking it, as its reptilian dinner hissed.
In a graceful swoop, his talons sinking in as he clutches the serpent.
In his hooting ascent; "Me lads won't go hungry. A night well spent".
The Crowned Cock was climbing up the ledge, prepping his throat.
Dawn; a time of a shrill stillness, not a thing chimes or breathes.
I lay, on an elderly stone bench who wore a furry-mossy-coat.
All things appear transfixed at the silent hour, an hour of thieves.
A Nescient-Bush Rabbit with a lisp, whispers, "It's time for the Thun.
New every dawn bring us jolly promithes, a volley of mirathles.
Witsh wake up I with thmaller me-ears, mine ears bit are overdone
Asthk, must for what you want, thomething that than't gold buy."
The dawn of splendour habitually comes after a black night.
My eyes on the East-Horizon, awaiting Sun's grand entrance.
East and opposite to him a bed of Flaming Dandelions spread out.
The air hung in a queer liquid-tranquility awaiting the Morning star.
A dawning, as I observe, degree by degree in a moment of birth.
In an absolute clarity of perception and deep silence on the earth
In tandem, all grey and white hues from the Garden of Night rose,
Gathered and embodied into the maiden; as the Dusk of night.
Oh the sight of her! I lose my rhythm.
My heart resembling an unevenly bonging bell.
The doorway goes round in its openness,
Where the two worlds touch.
Only the light moves,
Holding my breath in anticipation, I kneel still,
People going forth and back across this doorsill.
Excitement permeates as the moment escalates,
For the amorous union of the delicate Dawn and the sweltering Sun.
The serpentine street beneath her, vacant and deserted,
Autumn leaves litter and lay strewn, orange and brown.
Remnants of autumn.
Reticent, veils covering her modesty,
She hopes, are unveiled by the Sun.
Dawn; atop the hill on her mountain throne,
Awaits his entrance.
Don't go back to sleep. Don't pop the pill.
The Dawn has secrets to spill...
-Harish Vaid
[To be Contd... in Part II]
YOU ARE READING
RIVULETS OF THOUGHTS - Cascading emotions
PoetryI am a Poet, surfing the rainbows... Squandering the few surviving winks in my dreamy eyes. I, a well accompanied loner, saunter amidst the fireflies. Like a wandering dream, my restless mind meanders, "Will the same butterflies return to the flower...
