The separation

Lo falls so small the grain

from the beaks of so small the dove

as adiue bids the bee lass,

when memories remainĀ  untouched

in the hands of blossom prince.

When heavier feels dragging moment

as the very touch of the tiny wings

flutter away from the petals he wears,

the dove keeps searching in murky gales

for the lost beloved tiny grain.


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Deepest Wound

When the feathers of these maids

hidden within robes near to their hearts

tickles them reminding of thy touch,

whom dost they want to disappear in

as their robes flicker like a flame in wind?

Whom dost they yearn with shy to steal

desires preserved in their bangles fragile

O Krishna, as they compete among themselves

to be prettier so as to be thine on the day

you would return to this Vrindavan?

Remaining in thy land amidst waves,

how many times dost eyes wet thy cheeks

as thy mind carrier itself to this land

where thy beloved waits chanting thy name

for the day she would sublime in thy love?

Can there be deeper a wound than separation

so asks her lips bruised by endless longing

when each day thou gaze through the sills

to spot a cloud which resembles her

as thy royal cloak remains as chain to thou?