"Beauty is truth,
truth beauty,
that is all Ye know on Earth,
that is all Ye need to know..." - John Keats


Friday, 8 October 2010

Alchemy of Mind...

Words,the literary ether,
the life in the forest of humanity...
I still remember those days,
sitting down in the cozy dark corner,
with a book in hand,
shifting slightly,whenever a leaf turned...
Or else,those rain-drenched nights,
where you lay,with a warm blanket,
turning either sides,
at the turn of each page...
A book,a paper,
a friend,whom you carried around...
That friend,whose presence
made the most weary lecture,
pleasurable...
The physical proximity,
the lexical connection,
the informal extension of formal existence...
Under the glares of commuters,
beneath the blaring traffic,
beyond the rising lead,
in that dilapidated rocky bus,
Ye helped me find solace...
Transported to magical realms of Middle Earth,
riding with Harry on the centaur,
or maybe talking to Sapphira,the blue dragon...
You never left me to despair in harsh poison of reality...
My lungs burnt less in that smoke,where
my mind so carelessly soared...
Then when,it was time to come back,
and give the earthly pleasures a thought,
Wordsworth,showed Words' worth...
I know of England,I know of its flowers,
I know of Khashi,and its incessant showers...
I know,not because I have seen them in day,
but because I have flown over them,while it was just here that I always stayed...
And then there came Chaucer and Pope,
bringing with them Renaissance and its hope...
And Coleridge passed silently by,
with Keats leaping about,
singing what he knew on earth,
and then they passed by...
Sinister mind of Hitler,
and cold intellect of Kipling passed,
Shirley and Yeats,barely surpassed...
And when these poets and writers departed,
taking Europe and States,and Asia with them,
I sat conversing with my thoughts undefined,
till there came a stroke of unknown design...
Formed into words,were my mind's dances refined,
Structured have I this poetry with humility,
as an Ode for the Divine...
Singing the glories of the thoughts of those wild,
and mourning the progress we men made so mild,
I take your leave hoping for a miracle,and thus I resign...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju