The Wind and me

She looked as the night
Walking toward nothing,without any delight.
Not a shiver nor turning her head
Is this the ignorance in her,
Or mere show of inscrutable pride.

Here, i don't know her.

Wanderings in a lane,through a maze.
I,all alone did feel the lonely wind blow,
Moving as a husking bee , beside me.
To sting a breath of coolness on my  sweating brow.

Here it seems,
Seated in herself on a chair of the evening.

A voice id never forget
Surpassed through the smiling air.
Those fingers id never forget
Lovely as ever,silent as never.
A night among all nights, she remains
On an evening chair,on those mazed mirrors.
With her reflections, alI upright.
Herself she turned away ,then.
Quickly as in a mould with molten fire,
Turneth to the hammer's desire.

And the wind says to me,then.
Superior is she,as her graces unfold.
Walk away brother.
Walk away,
Walk away.
Before she sings as a nightingale.

DAVIDJEEVRAJ. PUNE. 01092017.

Far down south

A mellow voice,sweet dew bestowed
Trees and trees i see,flourishing
Some overgrown,their leaves drunk in serious rustling.
Some yet to grow,they have no eyes nor the brow.
They all be wood,
Some for fire
Some for unstaring at a furbished desire.

The mellow voice , remains unfilled.
Hear, those trees did speak some things
Among themselves all alive
Together building a university of sleep,
Silence deeply rooted with grounded feet
A caravan prepared in moving, dreaming deep.
They all be good,
Some for birds
Some for their nests

The repetitions are here made same
Them trees look the same,having slept. Without eyes,standing tall and wide.
No balcony door by them is ever touched
Never to ambitions do they cleave.
But for the morning dew,their rustling leaves wait to weave.
Nor have they suffered knocks,their fruit is what they give.
They all be food
Some for the soil in the soul
Some for them souls neath the voice mellow.

DAVIDJEEVRAJ. PUNE. 28102016.