Sunday, May 15, 2011

'Read Between the Lines': My 'Pomes'

When she walks, she’s a breath of fresh air,
Fragrant with confidence,
And elegant in attitude,
She speaks with authentic flair,
And makes all eyes turn in awe,
All heads in her reverence bow,
She raises her finger,
And beckons the world at her command,
Wherever her head turns,
A new conquest is formed,
Whenever she writes,
A new rulebook is born,
She is a woman of inner-strength immense,
Strong in her demeanour, and virtues abundant,

But of late, why does she seem so lost,
Often she wishes for something,
Hopes for the best, and prays hard,
And keeps her fingers crossed,
Often she slips into silence golden,
She smiles at some thought, quite often,
She goes down on her knees at God’s altar,
And says that her heart is stolen,

Ah! She is in love,
And to win in love, she must her heart lose,
Is she being meek, or is she weak?

For, love is not a battlefield, she says,
Where spears and swords clash with shields,
Where showcase of strength makes the mightier win,
Where blood is shed, and yet wounds might heal,
When name of beloved is wrought in blood,
And tides of time can’t erase what has been wrought in blood,
The strength of love lies in its belief,
And that true love shall always win