The Song of Love

The offering of the song of my love,

Today will I have warbled out before you.

Spare me but a few minutes of yours,

Lend me but your attentive ears,

Listen to it but with utmost zeal.

The hidden treasure of my secret love,

The reflection of my heartfelt intuition,

The repercussion of my innate desire,

Is inevitably rolling off my tongue…

The treasure of my love I will have engraved,

On the pure white paper of your heart,

Before anything untamed stain it.

Let it be your heart’s adornment for a lifetime,

Let it be the supreme invigorator of your heart,

Let it be a part of every rhythm it beat,

And let it be your heart’s accomplice until it ceases to beat.

A Moment With the Helen Cyclone

The fear and the bedlam created by the incessant whooshing sound of the gallant wind have envisioned in us the situation of the sky crumpling upon us. The sound made it vivid the likely infringement of the cyclonic disaster. It replaced our sound sleep with accelerated heart- beats. The wrath of nature encroached our zone with sheer warning, flung open our door violently, ushering millions of dust particles and debris inside.

Plugging in ear phones in anticipation of dissipating the terror did little to ebb the intensity of the sound that our ear drums encountered. The gallant waves roared through the night, and whirred through the day. The anger webbed in its roar was consistent. It didn't let us light even a tinge of hope of it surrendering.

 The magnitude and the ferocity with which it swirled its move kept on surmounting.  And so did the terror in the eyes of the helpless inhabitants. There was nothing we could do than to wait for it to subside. We left it up to god to decide our untamed destiny. We fervently prayed to God that all dwelling in the realm of the cyclonic rage be liberated from fear mounting in them, and that none be engulfed by the yearning mouth of the natural catastrophe.

The night long torment had the hinges of our bathroom door wrecked and blown to a distance. The slender coconut trees had their stature averted to a slanting position. Some of them toppled down in utter despair. The gooseberry trees couldn't resist but endure the loss of their sour juicy berries which found their place embedded amid the mud.

The pseudo-stem of banana plants gave way to a little pressure the Helen cyclone imposed on them. The fleshy and succulent nature of them conferred little resistance against the ghastly blow. The finger bunches swinging down the pseudo-stem succumbed to the ruthless attack. The fingers (technical term for banana fruit) that should have landed up in the market stalls found their place amid the marshy earth beneath.

The Extent of Cyclonic Wrath.

The very moment aftermath the peril, we visited the fields in an attempt to access the damage. It was evident that farmers are going to suffer irrevocable losses. At times, our move was counteracted by the fear of ourselves being examined by doctors rather than us examining the extent of damage. But should we attempt for a halt, the credibility of our profession is going to be at stake. So off we strolled until perspiration became the ultimate end product.

My Plead

 The blazing flame,

I will have ignited,

Only to warm your cold feet,

Even at the cost of I getting scorched.

All I need is  your presence;

To have your fragrance gasped,

To have gazed into your eyes,

To have skimmed the lines framed in your brain.

To savor the reassurance,

From that ravishing face of yours.

To reel over the track of our unwavering love,

To gear towards the destiny led by a common path,

To tread our path woven with unbound love and faith,

To inscribe a memory in the transient moment we dwell.

But  fervently I beseech thee,

With my two hands clinched into one,

‘Never I be included in the list of obliteration from your life

Never and ever let go off me,

For all these can't happen without you,

Not without you in my life'.

Never Let Go Off Me...