A dark peal of thunder rolls through the air,
caressing the skin, tantalizing, tempting,
a promise just beyond the hill as
the sighing shiver of emerald leaves comes to the ears,
soft petals of crimson flitting across the cheek,
tangling in wild black curls-
to rest like red stars in the night sky.
Beloved is that which cannot be held.
As shades of gray slowly dissipate from the clouds,
leeched of their monotonous spectrum,
auburn leaves flee on the wings of the velvet wind,
spices and myth finding flight in their wake.
Come hither small diamond, come hither.
A whiff of jasmine, herald of the Night Queen,
curves innnocent redness
into a Mother's smile,
a tangible memory,
as spears of lightening across the horizon
catch the present eye.
Ashes, ashes, eternity and forever.
Her arrow is nocked, the feathers brushing dainty fingertips
black as pitch on a moonless eve.
Released straight and true,
Her enemy falling, sinking behind the horizon
to pierce the sky with
unforgiving shards of antique gold and burgundy,
disappearing as suddenly as the dive of a falcon.
In the blink of an eye. Kaleidoscope.
She turns, the spears constitute as Her gaze,
the beauty of the night-luxurious strands of hair,
hidden, the moon is Her flawless face;
stray autumn tears forming a wine-shaded mouth.
And- as She fades away into the storm,
icy drops splash on an upturned face, wary, cautious
of Her tears.
Lonely butterfly, the window is open.
Gradually- as echoes of thunderous sobs
reverberate through the grassy plain,
the bramble recedes, prickly fingers
detaching from age-old prey.
Warm crystals fall upon petals in the thorn-vines,
edging the deep crimson in the finest of prisms.
Torn between the heart and the mind.
Torrents lessen, fury fumigated;
the rain stills and drains in the reservoir.
An earth-scented breeze weaves through the open,
rich, vivacious, cool to the touch,
sweeping away storms and darkness,
filling the sky with soothing strains of light.
A picture, half-burnt. Treasure.
Memories re-emerge, embracing the gentle symphony,
a Mother's smile to ward off unpleasant dreams
on the threshold of home,
a charm of eloquence to mime the blooms
of jasmine and autumn,
intertwined beneath the shaded, star-studded sky.
Within the Storm. Within the Night.
The first edited version of the first poem I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it. If not, please, tell me why.
Trivedi