YEARNING

Photo captured by the blogger. Anyone is free to use it.

(some realizations in Kochi, India)

A fragment of my will

I picked up in me

from the white sands

of an uncared sea. 

The fishing nets were alive

unlike the urban me

disturbed by little peace, 

noiseless and empty. 

Undefined to me,

my mind yells no word

absorbed as if it is

in the discipline of seas. 

The tree shelters ages

of poetry on demons and men, 

inspired poetry in the last

of the foreign boatmen

who carved love songs

on the salty woods

of their aged oars. 

She moved hastily

like love in my veins, 

veins in trouble

like her hairs

troubled by the winds... 

Mischievous. Teasing. 

I wished not to talk. 

A first time isn't good. 

Admirable she was

at the verandah

across the lawn

I watched in fear

of watching her much.

What if she mistook

my likeness for desire.

But she knew not

how my poetry loves her

more than me, 

a competent contender. 

And she'll never know

I was watching her

across the lawn

for treasure of a lifetime.