Is passion preserved only if let known to a world?
Are diamonds, diamonds only if unearthed?
What bee scents the fragrances of a wilting evening flower?
Love is for itself not for what it will bring..
Will not a poet who loves secrets
Write poems on hidden crags
Full of red flowers?
Reminding us of colours purples and blues..
Midnight streams will flow on
Drowsed by the beams of half-eaten moons..
Who heard the first lilting song sung by a bamboo?
Life’s beauties lie covered
In the paradoxic depths of consciousness..
Lunar totems will remain for eternity
Tied to sacrileges and sacrifices..
Love will submerge in itself
It cares not for a weary world
And its dreary epithets…
This is a comment I wrote to a friend on his blog for a poem he had written for “us”. The friend is still here; this poem has left me..