Tears
yet to come,
the day heralded wakefulness.
The divine element everywhere available
Not taken that groggy morning unlike the dewy flowers,
Warm bread's delicious simple first bite,
Strong coffee's quick sharp kick
that day uplifted.
Later
Venice and I pulled us each other,
and the pleasant sun watched us.
So did the speeding train as
I watched the countryside, dozed.
The sea eventually came,
as always cushioning enchantment,
and more this time, not counting
the giant cruisers - a sight in themselves ! -
and us tourists.
Then came the time to cross the bridge and lose oneself
in to a different world unseen and unheard before,
where life was moving an unusual form of usual.
Tears still yet to come,
we walked and felt like adventurers
watching the water taxis,
or that small bridge, which was a glorified door
you could say, or even reaching a dead-end,
and we ate ice-creams like kids,
the sun smiling upon us.
And then
They came out of nowhere.
Or expressed in a rather different way, they were always there
in that Venetian courtyard with the singer
performing a voice practiced to perfection
for pennies. They assumed their perfect shape
for those brief moments, as the song flowed outwards
from somewhere deep inside him, that all the rest felt silent.
All around me fallen to silence, the universe and the voice and the song
swirled upwards in perfect unison and I looked from the side
Silently. With tears in my hands as an offering
to Beauty that I can only best express
- to spare expression - as stronger than me.
Memory can be recalled at not-impossible costs,
and for that I am thankful.
The tears come and gone,
it became easier to breathe again,
the adventure resumed if it had stopped,
and it continued eventfully
till it culminated in magic -
The orange lights brushing the water softly
in the after-dark to remind
that however mundane something is -
like wooden lamp-posts with shifting bases -
imagination is the key
into almost everything.
yet to come,
the day heralded wakefulness.
The divine element everywhere available
Not taken that groggy morning unlike the dewy flowers,
Warm bread's delicious simple first bite,
Strong coffee's quick sharp kick
that day uplifted.
Later
Venice and I pulled us each other,
and the pleasant sun watched us.
So did the speeding train as
I watched the countryside, dozed.
The sea eventually came,
as always cushioning enchantment,
and more this time, not counting
the giant cruisers - a sight in themselves ! -
and us tourists.
Then came the time to cross the bridge and lose oneself
in to a different world unseen and unheard before,
where life was moving an unusual form of usual.
Tears still yet to come,
we walked and felt like adventurers
watching the water taxis,
or that small bridge, which was a glorified door
you could say, or even reaching a dead-end,
and we ate ice-creams like kids,
the sun smiling upon us.
And then
They came out of nowhere.
Or expressed in a rather different way, they were always there
in that Venetian courtyard with the singer
performing a voice practiced to perfection
for pennies. They assumed their perfect shape
for those brief moments, as the song flowed outwards
from somewhere deep inside him, that all the rest felt silent.
All around me fallen to silence, the universe and the voice and the song
swirled upwards in perfect unison and I looked from the side
Silently. With tears in my hands as an offering
to Beauty that I can only best express
- to spare expression - as stronger than me.
Memory can be recalled at not-impossible costs,
and for that I am thankful.
The tears come and gone,
it became easier to breathe again,
the adventure resumed if it had stopped,
and it continued eventfully
till it culminated in magic -
The orange lights brushing the water softly
in the after-dark to remind
that however mundane something is -
like wooden lamp-posts with shifting bases -
imagination is the key
into almost everything.
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