Until the Ganges Runs Dry

a poem by Paramesh C R

Speak no more of her sweet voice
Radiant smile and sparkling eyes
Beneath hides a shining splendor
Of inner beauty that lit my heart aflame.
It didn’t happen at home or on a sojourn
I am glad no wise man could discern.

I adore dearly her golden face
As I did at sweet sixteen
Feelings bursting, praised her by a verse
Raised even a garden of white roses
Dared to wait for a precious kiss
She never stopped by to say, “I love you”.

Haven’t I been a stricken star?
Looking for her to brighten my soul.
She sure would come by the moonlight
Hold my heart throbbing for her sight.
If she would kiss me million a minute
Fate shall mandate dance in delight.

Youth and romance slipping away fast
Do I tell her “good bye” at last?
And yet knock on the chamber door
Behind the temple of truth evermore.
In ecstasy I wake up from blissful dream
To the perfume of bed strewn of jasmine
Standing lonesome, senses part fading
Still looking, with blinding tears I yelled,
“You, damsel, where in me are you hiding”?

She gazed; the roses on her cheek
Were still blushing, fresh, and unique.
Am I to feel loneness of farewell?
Oh, no, I would see her, feel oneness
Dauntless, and formless, soul on soul
And give her pearls a touch of purple.
So wrapped I was, little did I know
Thought was the medium
Where I pictured her inner persona
Canvas was the medium
Where I captured her outward grace
Ever to shine until the ganges runs dry.