The Sacred Art Of Wondering

(c) Shilpa Sandesh

Awestruck or fascinated,
Wondering,
It isn't what the dictionaries have stated;

 It is a thing sacred,
When one's inner self,
At one point overshadows all,
Or becomes as tiny as an elf,
It is a state,
A sacramental attitude,
Soul's spiritual solitude,
An impromptu crying spell,
Like the body swaying unconscious,
In a huge tempestuous swell;

 And there,
In that hurricane,
I see a life raft,
And a messiah,
Making His way smoothly,
Like there is no gale,
And in a blink of the eyes,
All is at peace,
Pastoral,
Calm defeats the turbulent,
And to live again,
This heart turns fervent;

 The wondering leaps,
Springs across the melancholy's heap,
Much obliged I am, my Savior,
That You appeared,
Just when my thoughts,
With sorrows were smeared,
And so the reverence fails,
And halts,
Till the tranquility hails..........

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Feet in Blood !

(c) Shilpa Sandesh Her gaze is set, At the wide spread ahead, Lights glimmer, Racing motors on the road, And noises undefined, From far away; But no landscape can collate, With the bruised patches, in her heart; No motors are at par, With the speed of her hastening thoughts, And no clangor as loud, As the shrieks of her caged soul; Blaming is like, Plucking the petals,  of a blossoming flower, To take the blames, Is like being pushed, To walk bare foot on thorns; It's a puzzle, it's a jumble, Her inner self is, Disarrayed, cluttered,  It's a muddle; Those moments are no more, When she was, Besotting to his eyes; When her tears made his eyes wet, When seeing her in pain, His heart ached; She is a reflection, Of the fate's rebound, In the broken mirror; She walks, On the scattered glasses, And Oh! My feet are in blood!
Read more

A Puppet

(c) Shilpa Sandesh Born a free soul, With wings to fly, Bound she stands, Entwined in compromises Tethered are her hands with the strings of liabilities, Muddled are her steps, in the lashes of limits and boundaries; She loved once , with all her heart, The tenderness and fondness, that's doomed today; She smiles when she's sad, And cries when happy; The tiny wonder, Is her sole sustenance, All that she has won, as the fruit of love; An emotional fool, And destiny's blunder, She calls herself, The hell's wonder; She craves for that warmth, that unconditional love, A whim for those vows, a desire for that embrace, And, In the hands of time, A puppet she is, In the fate's haze!
Read more

Mumbles

Image
Emotions, Are so naive, Manifesting the strength within, And then shattering everything, But it's okay, Isn't it? It's a sweet battle, The life, And I am not sorry for it, It's the final call, And it's okay, Isn't it? The stride, Upon the eventual path, Is unexpectedly long, I am exhausted, But it's fine, Isn't it? Happiness, Now that's a puzzle, I have its pieces, all jumbled, Trials were beauteous, Mistakes were ugly, But happens, And it's alright, Isn't it? The dainty reflection in the mirror, You do agree with me, Don't you? (c) S.S
Read more