Your looks, pregnant with feeling undefinable
Filled the breeze with ambience, felt, but not perceived
The wavy movement of your breath, tuneful and blithe
Chisels the zephyr around your body, with perfection,
To a ‘shape’ that defines my shape,
Your quivering finger so tenderly touches
The sand that has become a sublime canvas
Oozing the bliss of nature along with water of last wave
And-Alas! – heralding the calamity of next one!
That graceful movement of your finger doodles,
Blessing the ‘canvas’ with lines shapeless, but not unfeeling
My eyes are transfixed to the strange shape of lines, nascent, but mature.
The nebulous curves define something strange in me.
A poem, enriched with serenity, seeps out and is perceived.
A glimpse of appreciation in your eyes, the highest accolade
The ‘calamity’ arrives and erodes the work of art, but not the poem.
Will it ever be able to efface the feeling of the moment?
The poem has not been written, but has been read by our souls.
The world grows beautiful, just for me, though I am dead to it!
My eyes closed, in your divine proximity, to see it better,
And to imbibe the beauty satiating my soul.
Eternity shrinks into that movement and that second, into eternity!