The Sonata Of Silence
The moist meadow of my heart
desiccates in desolation like a desert,
dispersed clouds of parched passion
make my mirage mind the deceptive sky.
The halcyon horizon I call mine waits
for the argentine moon to rise,
send from the fervent sparkling skyline
the sequins of your charisma
to swathe my sheltered shades of blues.
From the surge of sequestered sandstorm
the sands of my derelict desire drift away
from the shifting dunes of deprivation.
The dry oasis within me doesn’t remember
it was once an epitome of my longing.
Away from the wilderness of my loneliness
in the far away fawn forest,
I wish you turn into an emerald tree.
In its soothing shade I’ll like to repose,
hear the song of the leaves,
dancing in the breeze with your charm.
In the template of my seclusion,
the transient display of dreams
turns into lilting lyric of million steps
I walk to reach you,
setting free the captive heart
that quivers like the wasteland willow.
As the motif of my resolute essence
repudiates the reprisal of catharsis,
at the edge of your serenading fading shadow
I sense in the sanctum of my fossilized time
the sonata of silence.
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