dr.k g balakrishnan
The feeble waves caressing
My chinking tinkling zeal,
The pre mute notes
Post mute too,
Hand- loomed in silky
Moonlight-strand,
The cream-hued passion!
The touch gentle, the pat
Effervescent horripilate,
The vibratory beating,
The transcendental ecstasy!
The reverberation
Of the tick of the Big Ben
Eternal, the pulse of the
Samashti,
The Time at times the Drummer,
At times the Violinist, but,
The tune, tone, an’ the verse
The n-dimensional Space!
I could throng my pursuit
With the resonance of the
stream,
The jangling of the breezing
Breathe of yours, that too
Is non stop till the sunset!
Surely, the ring might
Come to an end, where as
It would come to being
As the hum of the beetle,
The song of the cuckoo,
An’ the warmth of the garnishing
Crimson dawn!
==============
