Yet !                      

He has been there for some time.

You know him well though!

The one who sheds a tear and wears a smile;

yeah! The one who is blind and old and garrulous….you know

whose poetic ramblings have been in want of a rhyme ;

With words like heart and soul and sweet and honey,

The fool dreams of composing a poetry sublime !

With a zeal unabated and reason, the most uncanny.

When a poem rhymes, my dearest ,

People call it a song !

To rhyme, a line echoes the line nearest.

And lo! Together, they sound as a symphonic aplomb !

The rhyme dwells on paper, but symphony, an abstract !

The earthly has to rhyme to beget the unearthly!

Isn’t a newborn, a sweet remembrance of the contact

Unearthly, which the mother enjoyed, so very dearly ?

The song of my life needs a rhyme, my dear.

Yet, you denounce the words as being weak and frugal ?

To translate your sentiments, they stand nowhere near !

Isn’t a weaker human, a base or regal,

Capable of meeting the divine ?

Won’t you say, that could our love befit ?

The intentions, being very clear in my line ,

Say your line, oh my dearest , do say it !

                                                                                      -----Sauru

I am Sorry......

To a dear friend who means the most to me.......

I wish I could love and breathe
in this small room of mine
with circumstance at my nadir
and emotions the zenith.
Yet, all it takes but an err
in curbing love's inundations
to deprive me of my spade and scythe

O my friend! My hope! My meaning!
My tears! My shadow! My loneliness!
My Contemplation! My only Salvation!
The thing which turns the tears to smiles
O my dearest alchemy!
Yet, you foresake me for a drunken blasphemy?

O how could you not see the reason!
The very craving to see you smile
does lead to a paucity in thought
and nudity in action!
A friend's smile, the only elixir,
to digest the venom of lonely transgressions

O dear! please do not misunderstand,
this poesy to be cajolement;
but rather a full-fledged confession
about the vanity of my remark,
that pierced your noble heart,
as judged by my own guilty thought

And now, the guilty begs forgiveness
at the feet of a friend, he considers best
The satisfaction of saying a sorry,
soliloquy won't partake.
With my friendship at stake
and my saneness in jeopardy
O my friend! Speak! Speak to me!

                                               -----Sauru

The Persuasion

Two  of the finest poems of the Victorian era start with the famous iamb "Come, Live with me and be my love". One of the poems is by Christopher Marlowe and is a poem that I have liked the most : http://www.poetry-online.org/marlowe_come_live_with_me.htm

Another one is a bit satirical composition by C.Day Lewis . The poem can be found here :

http://poetrycollector.wordpress.com/2008/07/16/come-live-with-me-and-be-my-love/

These two poems provided enough motivation to compose my very own version :)

 

                                      The Persuasion

Come, Live with me and be my love

And we will all the pleasures prove .

With thy beauty's April and my youthful zest,

Trust would accomplish the rest.

I would sit and stare for hours on end

at thy beauty's perennial abound

And then, like summer tempest, pen thee down,

with words chosen from English's crown.

Would this so naive an attempt be

of pen and paper to immortalize thee ;

Yet a part of thy youth, for ages, would breathe

even if thy flesh decays beneath.

Amorous, though chaste, thy beauty be

but a reincarnation of my darling poesy.

If such poetic delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me and be my love.

Yet While singing of the ephemeral all,

thou would'st help me recall

that the greatest of follies to be dread

is to confuse the maker with the made.

And yet in the Life's darkest hour,

the inner light would be our guiding star.

If such a higher purpose may thee move,

Come, Live with me and be my love. 

                                                    -----Sauru

To dear Sudhanshu...

The whistle is blown.
kerchiefs fly on the sombre air ;
And smiles struggle to clothe,
the dewy eyes, now laid bare.
An adieu that befits all the love and care
alike from the known and the unknown.
Yet how could thou so happy be ?

Art thou happy for the greener pastures
that await thee homeward as thy go ?
The grass is green, you surely know.
Yet, without the sweet smelling camaraderie,
wouldst thine eyes alone embrace the grass ,
when thy nose says no ?
Thine green shrubbery, would but fail to amass
the hay-strewn days of mirthful rapture.

A great friend as I am ;
Yet, why this discordant chord ?
Has my friendship been so poor
to restrict an amiable nod
to the wanting that my friend' heart craves ?
Oh! such such selfishness I bear,
that Bach and Mozart would turn in their graves.
For friendship is but a single soul symphony
amidst the shrill bugles of corruption's cacophony.

Wayward! Wayward! thee go my worthy friend.
If be thee gone and never again ;
Then thy memories as gold I retain ;
Enough for this birth to sustain.
But if be my destiny, my host one day,
I would wish to be thy counsel and thy say
for all births and every day!

                                     ---- Sauru

Lines written on the sands of Jaisalmer

Ice cold winds and fickle sands ;
Death, its worth, demands.
Hope, my feet, my way, the north star,
as the moon shines on this desert of Thar.
How I feel no cold ?
By a lone traveler, so I am told :
This body lodges no soul ;
Of shadow, I am but a ghoul.

Sorrow, but an oxymoron implants ;
Of warmer tears and colder hearts.
How my heart feels so cold and numb . . .
T' is but a graveyard of passions that succumb
to my fate, when it calls in its wake,
when mere existence is at stake,
to just keep walking with questions that mar
my very purpose on this desert of Thar.

Yet, I keep walking . . .
And yet, I keep trying . . .

To imprint my feet on the sands of time ;
only to be erased off by the whirls malign.
How I seek to stop and to die ;
On this very spot, my grave shall lie.
With an epitaph that shall read :
"Of the lone and the morrow, preferred Death instead. "
Ah ! but for that mirage seen during the day ,
that makes it easy to die but tempting to stay .

It's the mirage of an oasis . . .
Full of warmth and shade, the oasis . . .

A little warmth might, my nerves, sustain ;
Might this poor heart start thudding again ;
Might I discover my answers in its shade ;
Then, for this chance, Death, I will trade .
Now, its really left for my fate to decide
between life far away and death beside.
So, my fate, do answer me :
Will that mirage an oasis be ?
Oh ! will that mirage an oasis be ?

                                                    --Sauru

Lines written on the sands of Goa

Oh Arabian! by thy vastness thou betray
my sight;  Yet thou perfectly portray
on thy blue canvas, of fecundity the kind,
in emotions that wreck this helpless mind.

Though thy waters incessantly ebb and flow,
thou never crosseth the golden limits you know.
So are the surges of desire that wreck my tranquility;
Yet they abide by the cultured shores of maturity.

On the line that my eyes sketch, thy waters
run deep I know; So do my thoughts reach
the hell's door,where, to knock, my mind falters.

Oh ocean ! beneath thy blue facade, a world thrives
that the sun knows not; So behind my opaque mask,
do breathe my thoughts, the emotions, that mind derives.

                                                                                           ---Sauru

The Longing

What a singular creature that I have been ;

Born in this thriving house of bane ,

with ears the traitors, silence the sane.

I befriended misery to fathom the unseen.

Emotions though free men, tears but prisoners be ;

For untamed tongues spill out a deceitful cacophony.

With thoughts my food and solitude belonging ;

I scrape through the day for that very longing.

Longing to be with the one very dear ;

Though visage unknown and contours unclear.

Yet, beneath the heavens, my heart knoweth

of a soul, pure and mirthful, it often speaketh.

Longing to kick open the chambers of my heart

full with untrodden corridors dark.

And while thus she sees her lover unveiled ,

I would inturn perceive a new man revealed.

Longing to feel that very first touch ;

And devour it as if life wouldn't offer much.

To feel the chill go down the spine ;

Of souls the union, as bodies entwine.

Longing to hear my tongue obey

the surges of mirth or of utter dismay,

that ever riseth in this human heart.

Though madness I favour, with stolidness I part.

Longing to feel that very longing

when the dearest isn't nearby.

Cursing the void as if feeling

sans her, life's a big tearful sigh.

Longing to behold the destiny's allegiance ;

To my humble longings, the future's compliance.

And now, clinging firmly to faith's icicle,

I meet life headon; whether victory or debacle.

                                                                     ---Sauru