Buried in sunken eyes sleep the dreams—
Countless corpses of abundant wishes—
As silent as a songbird that has lost its voice.
There reign phantoms of deeds
Like a sadist, remorseless ruler.
The magic wand destroys slumber, and
The dreams fall in—as loyal as Arthur’s soldiers;
They revel and dance to a fresh tune of promises
Till arrows kiss them as chosen prey.
Mortified they sink in dreamless sleep.
Peace prevails as martyrs die,
Deeds are done as dreams untie;
Life lies as a nursery of deathless dead.
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This is a repost originally published two years back on the 35th death anniversary of my dear mom.... "Mother, I shall weave a chain...
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Where, so far and afar, does my soul wander in pursuit of Those tunes of thy flute that lets the breeze moan? Where does to an alien plac...
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Death—premature or likely, accidental or natural—always leaves an impervious void in souls of those near ones where gentle tunes of ...
Though your poem is titled Life. Your lines makes me think of death and broken and unfulfilled dreams.
ReplyDeleteNow I see why your comments are so poetic :), you have wonderfully strung the words to generate profoundness.
ReplyDeleteThanks, everyone !
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