{Of all lies, art is the least untrue - Flaubert}

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

Tiny Blades

The gates of tiny blades, the light on the green grass
The dirt of earth below, a foot pressed it all

The soul of night and the son of darkness, sang together
The spirit of dawn, the sister of light, spoiled it all

The unrest of mind, the buses of thought, wandered, waved
The necessity of life, the ruler of might, aligned it all

The burning hearts, the turning clocks, around my side
The whorl of fire, those two stones, flamed it all


Alok said...

this is really good. I mean...honestly, your previous poems sounded a little immature and confused but this one is really good, way beyond.

just beware of your tendency to mix the metaphors:

The unrest of mind, the buses of thought, wandered, waved


Mridula said...

I really envy people who can write in verses, I cannot even to save my life.

anurag said...

Alok, I will take care.
If someone say this one is really good and you have moved forward, I become really scared to post the next one :))

I have read on your blog sometimes back, "Self-doubt is biggest obstacle/enemy to creation". But I feel, lot of times, that I write out of self-doubt and confusion only. No wonder the results are also confused and lost :)

Mridula, the pictures on your blog are no less than verse :)