She and the night sky

Know not how but whenever she arrives
I can hear her from far,
Her silver anklets I hear
Ringing like a fascinating music,
Her smell can I get,
Sometimes jasmine, sometimes lavender,
Sandalwood too,
Know not how but whenever she comes
I can feel her arrival,

That night too,
Even before she came,
Thought I heard her footsteps,
Felt a sudden flow of breeze
Flowing into me, my heart,

Looked around,
The terrace was empty till then,
Barring me,
Under the enchanting sky
An enchanted self,

Then her did I see,
My object of so many words
Forming prose and poetry,

'So you came...after days so many...'
murmured I,
Looking at her eyes,
So curiously made
Like a pair of youthful vivacity,
Her eyebrows danced a bit,
Playful as she appeared,

'Thought of me? '
She asked,

'Yes...'

'How oft?'

She was definitely inquisitive,

'As oft as this life beckons me to
Look around me to feel your presence
In your absence...'

I said,
Without any pretensions,

She came closer,
Looked at me,

I found how the Starry Starry night
Wrote song of longing in her eyes,
Cloudless, clear, much like the night sky
That watched us over, like a witness.

Morning road, autumnal vines and post card from provence

Morning road, autumnal vines and that postcard from Provence

The morning had that sweetness of mellowed light
And breeze cool slowly flowing across the golden fields of ripened corns,

Much like that favoured postcard from Provence
It had all the colors of the wild
And shades interfusing lighted space,

The morning had memories of losing oneself to the beauty of life
As captured by the pristine country road,
Not faraway a loco perhaps chugged
Making whistle which only accentuated the lust of wandering in mortal souls,

Like a postcard from Provence
Blissful, serene , restive,

The morning how brought one
More close to colors, lores and free spirit of a day, blithe and Pure.

Still remember the day

Still remember that day

Still remember that day,
When we stopped at the fringe
Of the city, descending from the car
You stood looking at the sky
Getting usually painted by the setting sun's glow,
An electric pole with crows hanging on wires
Only stood as an aberration to the otherwise beauteous composition of a sky as it appeared,

You were singing soft ,
If I may recollect,
A song of late seventies
Which narrated how pairs of lovers
Thronged in the city square
Braving odds of all kinds,

I , leaning against the bonnet of the car
Thought of taking a snapshot of your wonderous silhouette,
Your hair that you left unbound
Flew like a garment of silk,

How I again fell in love with you
Your songs, your silhouette,
Your silken hair smelling like lemon leaves,

O how again I fell in love with
The painted sky, the vast meadows,
And our youthful escapades!

Down the road

Down the road
Down the road
Through the farm
At the end of summer
Happy and warm,
Would I go following you
Till the sky would catch
That festive bluish hue,
And till the birds would care to sing
Songs old wrapped in newer meanings,
Down the road
Through the farm
At the end of an autumn
Just before the beginning
Of a beautiful wintry setting,
Would I go following you
Till scenes would come to view
And till they would cause a rise in me
Words placed in rhyme, like a half forgotten tune ,
Like ringing shape of ancient Poetry.