Saturday, 12 February 2011

A Monk Bride

Mist shrouded the eyes,
Beauty spread in expanse.
Snow speck stuck to the sole.
Blue sky had a crimson mole.

Hills wore excess of white make-up,
With the red path ways opening up to speak.
Like a lusty new bride, scorching with desires,
Still timid, tender and weak.

A scintillating shiver in the air,
Like just before the first warmth of love.
Shivering of currents of the cold,
as if blood vanishes from above.

Rocks peeping through brown window holes,
Pilfering the fragility of my love.
Standing with innocuous looks.
For they have seen all past Romeos of the bride.

A tacit cascading warm breath,
Mocking me, as if waiting for her lover.
She knew, I was in love,
She knew all the other Romeos were too.

I went closer to the cold warmth,
Spread her arms like the vast mountain ranges.
Mellow hands held me,
And put me to sleep on the cloudy lap.

I woke up from the parade of clouds,
Dusted my limbs
And shoved the white snowy shroud.
She was still there, timid tender, weak and this time; proud.

Love showered from her benign eyes,
Soaked me in pure white.
The ogling rocks smiled,
As they had seen it in the past, and waiting this while.

Her eyes abundant with love,
Never had fallen short.
She loved them all; all the romeos.
And with ample love, as me, they did depart.

She loves them all; all falling in love.
She waits along as a bride.
She is a beautiful monk as a bride.
She never gets married, forever stays a bride.


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