Writers' Choice

Knowledge it is that has secretly solicited in its branches, the justification of error. Love it is that has in its chambers nourished the beautification of solitude. Breath it is that has encompassed in its periphery The delivery of the power of knowledge and love Divinity it is, that has in its crest breathed music To acknowledge the heart of its accomplishment.

Getting back to times so well spent Was indeed a revelation that My coming did not go waste. Much have I earned lost none Meanings and memories merged                     and did not collide to result disaster. Instead, they shaped dreams and bred new dreams,new relations. Moments weighed and christened New names, their solitary lustre were  prayers invoked so long a time to be With You, to feel You, to realise Your Presence And so You did with love. In all, the gazes, words, smell, energy The Sun sent letters of love that survives All discomfort, unpleasantness, contempt and rejuvenates the entire being. Thank You.

I know I cannot love anyone save You And love it is not if love has to be defined. Love encompasses all, as the saying goes I deny myself I know, in solely loving You. When I do not know the extent to reciprocate Why at all do I honor the love for You when I don't love the others just the same? I do not have an answer, I do not fear Though time will measure and portend Whether at all I have loved You or not. I know thus well, all but one thing, that Even if You foresake me, the trembling body At nature's exhaust and ire will continue To throb Your Name and the longing That has sustained heart and memory so long.

Sometimes I wonder----- What did I do to deserve so much of You? I still am instilled in the faith of my being                                               That measures occasionally the limits of existence. Fear, doubt,self-denial combine, join hands And laugh together so as to mock at the depth I've not yet reached                                                       Sometimes I wonder. Fleeting thoughts provoke fleeting moments To rest on all that was once and is gone And will probably come or may not arise at all. Do You then come to assure me that, my fault My thought was justified as was proclaimed To give me back to myself? Sometimes I wonder.

I saw You standing on the terrace next Your back turned in deep contemplation. They grabbed You almost, tried their best                 To encase You in sacks but instead they were.                                 You weren't there when I looked down 'midst them they were, You were not Where did You go? I know You detest Company that means the less of You and more of the world. You were there with me. Then why did You go?                 I'm left with this complaint and hence will always wonder               whether at all I received the best in the dream of Your Form dressed in white and then in orange facing down                                 staring, gazing, still in search, in deep contemplation.