Skip to main content

The Bridge

A bridge waits for the assembly of her workers,
She hangs in the mind of the designer, who evoked
the mighty image of her, unperturbed, he sketch
the foundations with which she shall stand.

The designer waits for the nerves to transfer
his fleeting impulses onto his tensed mind,
Worried, he sips his morning coffee, confused
over the remarkable gift that he was granted with.

The words of the needy summons up into a plea,
From where they transfer it onto the designer's ears,
Their troubles shall pass, the bridge shall connect
their fears to beliefs and sorrows to smiles.

The doubts are born inside the mind, classified as
people that lives inside, the mind prohibits any
action taken against the unbridged eras, there
amidst the misery a spark ignites, a revolt begins.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna All the reverberations of the world nestled In a tiny speck that glowed bright, Like beads in a necklace, It united with The mighty hands of a violent Lord. The speck, moved along like a Cobra, It wrestled to be released, A space Overpowering, yet calm waited For the Cobra to taste his infinity. The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand, He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched, With it all powers shall crumble down, With it all creations shall see annihilation. Umbraged, liberated and fearsome, The speck escaped his hands, Fire Spread all around the Lords' head, For once The speck was here, next it was there. It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune, The frenzy uplifted the Lord, His hands moved to push the flame, Onto the circling speck. In a flash of ambrosial light and sound, The speck exploded and whizzed all around, The Lord went onto a fury of power, He felt his waist c...

Loops of Love

Abstract : The Color Red We are seeds of the same flower, Carried by wind to poles apart, Time brings your fragrance, The spores bring your love! We are tunes of an unwritten song, Playing endlessly on and on, With the memory of each other to Keep us by, and no words to disturb Our plights. We are the dreams of a child, His agonizing fears, his deep love, His beautiful garden, his solitary cradle, His toys, and his oedipus wraths. We are memories waiting to be made, Memories of guilt, memories of crime, Memories of sorrow, memories of love, Memories that nostalgia ignites! We are half drunk cups of coffee, Cold yet waiting to be consumed, Useless and beyond all hopes, We usually get flushed out. We are a poet's funereal thoughts, Which he could never pen down, Yet in his dying cells, we live on Undisturbed! We are souls that meet after death, Forced to live apart when alive. We meet after the pains and tears ...

The Search For Beauty | Dedicated to All Mothers on this Mother's Day

Painting : Quench by Katie.M.Berggren O, beautiful world, What grace and love do you keep? I walked along your coast, To find a shore of charm,   But came back with nothing at all. Abashed, destroyed and polluted, The world belongs in disarray, No song is sweet, No flowers are bright, No beings provide delight. Amidst my falling hopes, I stumbled upon a moving view, A snuggled baby in a mother's arms, And two bright eyes providing shade, Solace and eternal love. In those arms rests the comfort of all, In those eyes remains brightness paramount, In those beats, hidden, is love beyond, In her heart reside the beauty I searched for!