Skip to main content

VERSES IN YOUR EYES


Your eyes speak volumes and their songs are a divine serenade 

The silences between us are a sweet echo of things unspoken and unsaid


Upon the sun-warmed beach we had built sandcastles, courtyards, turrets and towers

Snapshots are in frames as we picked seashells or in the sand, carved our names with flowers 


Swathed in silks my hair had shimmered like diaphanous pixie wings under the autumn moon

Your eyes radiant like a chatoyant jewels had glittered with hues of the ocean and water lilies in bloom


Summer turned to fall and frigid winter

There arrived one fine day, your much awaited letter:


Saying, let me be your wishing star and a safe harbor

Herein I will moor my ship dropping my anchor


If my world was a palette of paint, you are the blue of my sky 

The red of my hopes, the gold of my sunshine and green of my joy


The stars dazzled and danced beside the moon

You were coming to make me your bride very soon


The sky had blushed with streaks of coral and peach color

Rouge and fuchsia ribbons whirled when it had almost come to pass a brazen winter


Running my hands on the writing oh so familiar

I delicately folded the fragrant paper


Now, under the spreading branches of a juniper tree stands a mailbox forlorn in the winter's snow

Derelict with a moss covered facade awaiting a letter…a message or even a curio


My dreams, a color of summer violets and forget-me-nots blue

Waits for someone to knock on it to make all their dreams come true


As I hold your old letter between the strings of my heart

Deafening quiet about this quaint unfinished little story is only a start 


From a long forgotten sliver of time, a tiny vault of memory whispers a strain of melody

An unwritten tale, an unsung song or a heartfelt poetry 


Whilst now caged in this monochrome, cheerless taupe world bland

Once upon a time we had created stripes and swirls of a rainbow wonderland


Lost echoes still reverberate in the silence of the dusky skies

Long shadows abound, some dreams were buried for your futile pretty little lies.


©️ Sangeetha Kamath 

Pic Courtesy:Image by Alan Frijns from Pixabay

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

CHAPTER 1: THE JADE SHAMBHALA

This post is Chapter 1 of short story series titled The Jade Shambhala. Tasseography is as old as time. The stories in the tea leaves will leave you in a spin, while the healing tea that precedes it anchors you like gripping oak roots. Every day for the next seven days, Xiu-Ying will welcome a new traveler seeking refuge from their heavy burdens, reading their futures in the settled leaves and guiding them toward peace as the seasons shift on the ridge. Welcome to The Jade Shambhala Tea House!                               CHAPTER 1                            EARLY SPRING  Ko-San Tê Bai Mudan (White Peony and Red Dates) The morning mist in the rolling hills of the 1980s Taiwanese countryside did not rise; it dissolved, burning away into thin silver threads under the persistent warmth of the early spring sun.  The Yun-Shan Ridge grew f...

QUEST FOR THE BEARS (DAY 18, LETTER Q)

                      CHAPTER 17             QUEST FOR THE BEARS  The next day, the pigs trotted off to spread mischief in the woodland, their ricky-ticky steps scuffing the damp path into a mess of overturned leaves and broken twigs. Goldwynn stayed crouched behind the wonky rain barrel until the sound of their pig-trouble thinned, then thinned again, then dissolved into the larger quiet of the trees. She didn’t move right away. The woods had a way of listening after the pigs left, as if it wasn’t sure they were truly gone. The air held its breath with her. When she finally stood, the silence felt heavier than noise. No birds called. The light came down in broken pieces, the sun playing hide-and-seek through beech and alder, dappling the forest floor with spools of pale gold. The ground under her boots was soft and cold, a black earth that smelled of truffles gone to rot and old rain. It stuck to ...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

                          CHAPTER 16                    THE BIG BAD WOLF  The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about.  The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

                            CHAPTER 15                RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

CHAPTER 2: THE JADE SHAMBHALA

      This is a part of a short story series titled The Jade Shambhala. 7 days, 7 stories, 7 different exotic tea blends from the Far East and unique tea leaves reading for each. Welcome to the tea house!                             CHAPTER 2                      LUNAR NEW YEAR          Kim-huan Tê ( Golden Lily Oolong) The early spring air hanging over Sian-Phô village was heavy, smelling faintly of spent sulfur from the Lunar New Year firecrackers and the cold, sharp scent of wet pine needles.  Up on the Yun-Shan Ridge, the festive red lanterns hanging from the eaves of the low wooden cottages were damp and water-logged, their brilliant scarlet dye bleeding slowly into the persistent gray mountain mist. The holiday had just ended, and while the rest of the village was settling into the quiet hope of a new agricultural...