Farewell

I could hardly draw a letter,
Or a letter of appreciation;
A letter of farewell;
A letter of tears.

Four lines are insufficient,
Or are less worthy,
To show how we would,
Would, miss and wish you.

Yes! We are luckiest,
Or are we the saddest?
We did get years with you,
Yet, this farewell, too fell to us.

Sir! You don’t want a farewell,
Sir! We don’t want a farewell;
But this retreat could last no longer,
Yet there shall be more treats.

There is no class to be held,
But functions & teachers, still here,
So will you have to join in pleasure,
Every time we invite, everywhere.

So will you have to come,
And keep in touch forever;
Think us, your eternal students,
Think us, your eternal admirers.

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Drinking

Your face melts into shine,
And I drink it in one glimpse;
My eye is coloured in glow,
In taste of such sight
As yours: fair and feathered,
In creamy foam of youth!
I fill it in my eyes,
And drink in closed shutters,
Your smiles and stares, altogether,
Pour it through my heart,
To my deep imagination,
And here arouses, affects
Of digestion; that my visions
Travel in fantasized world,
Flies and tickles in tongue,
And tickles my whole body,
For someday, as you,
Who, stay far away and yet,
A sight slips through the heart,
And eyes drink to quench me of you!

Letter to Him

I saw in your eyes, the hesitation of past,
I thought I knew, for what it came,
And from where it came; but again you cast,
The repeated look; that now I am unable
To draw it correct, in my frame,
Your eyes and emotions, unstable.

You are stammering lips, on purpose,
To escape my attentive questions;
You avoid your colours thus;
But how I caught your eyes, looking in shy,
Answering me with cautions,
I understand not, why?

I missed something, or did you hide,
Why your words not mean right?
Why did you not yet decide,
Or do I know not the real reason;
Is there a past to past, insight?
Is there still more hidden, in red prison?

Funerals

Some hours ago she must have been there,
I know she was there, in weakness and despair,
Still and ill, in hospital bed,
All by her side, through her ailing
And suffering red carpet;
A month ago, I saw her in colours,
Deep and bright of clothes,
A happy weak heart within;
She is distant, and my sympathies are thus,
Weak or poor; yet I knew her.
But the body is lost in fire,
And soul has elapsed in air,
Somebody who lay,
Yesterday,
And is no-body in few hours.
No turning back, but no foot rise,
To move away in despise.
One new born, the funerals offer,
Memories of their lost mother,
To hold on her image, and walk
When no face shall smile or talk.

Songs of spirits

Dancing lovely flesh-bound men, in attire
Of muscular Prince; dip in blazing fire,
Are dancing charming princes, seldom, out of desire.
In every tulip shimmer shine, the blush of admire.

Standing tall and illuminated in royal poise,
Hear him instead in disturbing, crowded noise;

And charming dances he does, in deep eye,
Modeled in every heart, covered in shy,
He still dances, unaware, or above them high,
And in one soul, in love, deeply he lie.

Notice, he does; and reflects the bloom,
Beyond they see, two souls dancing in public room.

Beyond, they do not yet see, each other
In near or future, altogether,
But how far they wait, or wait whether, 
But their hearts together, still walk and walk further.

Stories

My little clumsy paths that carry me hard,
On stone studded steps of sun,
Through waves of still river in daylight,
In spiky grasses of green morning dew,
In dense and dark pastel forest;
I travel in engines,
In the wind, with black birds of sky,
Blackening those blacks of my mind.
Nature and natural bushes of retire,
There, I see towers of science and labour.
I travel through rails, of stories of travel,
In wires and sounds, I enquire words,
In muds, in fields I still enquire.

How I like fire

I get solace in fire,
In the fiery blaze,
Not of desire;
Of a ruined village.
I like the yellow and red,
I like it rising high,
Blackening beneath bed,
Falling ashes in sigh.
Fire can burn and blast,
The mortal flammable mind;
The ashes all left in past,
Soothing my dejected kind.
The heart which burns, remembers
Not a painful scar;
Death arrives before tears,
And takes the soul far.
I would like to die under fire,
Before meeting pain,
Or should like fire, I be admire,
And burn everything plain!