(2 September 1850 - 4 November 1895 / St Louis / Missouri / United States)

The Cry Of The Heart

The cry of the lion was majestically thunderous; although it died as the minutes rapidly unveiled; with the stupendous tranquility of the forests taking wholesome control,

The cry of the clouds was insatiably voluptuous; although it faded after a while; as the Sun Omnipotently enlightened even the most infinitesimal entity in neighboring vicinity,

The cry of the shark was royally piercing; although it diminished almost as soon as it had come; with the unfathomably undulating wave wholesomely drowning it into an ocean of mesmerizing froth,

The cry of the eagle was exuberantly aristocratic; although it vanished surreptitiously from the sky in an ethereal flash; as cyclonically untamed maelstroms perpetuated the canvas of the panoramic valley,

The cry of the nightingale was melodiously enchanting; although it blended with the aisles of nothingness after a while; as the triumphantly trumpeting elephants insatiably marauded the meadows; left; right and rampant center,

The cry of the gloriously unflinching warrior was supremely ecstatic; although it coalesced with threadbare mud in an ethereal instant; as an unsurpassably unending tirade of pugnacious bombs; brutally plummeted upon him from the enemy camp,

The cry of the waterfalls was harmoniously enchanting; although it dried up as quickly as flashes of lightening thunder; as the tyranny of the acrimoniously sweltering day evaporated every bit of it; into wisps of obsoletely disappearing oblivion,

The cry of the bee was boisterously swarming; although it soon mellowed to an inconspicuous trace of its original self; as the scent of the magnanimously everlasting lotus unconquerably enshrouded everything above hard ground,

The cry of the seductress was ebulliently tantalizing; although it disappeared into the ingredients of nothingness like a trice of a bullet; as the silken magic of the titillating night soon gave way to the hideously monotonous day,

The cry of the clocktower was stringently meticulous; although it quickly subsided into a corpse of morbid meaninglessness; as the lanky arm struck past the wonderfully reverberating hour,

The cry of the rainbow was resplendently vivacious; although it fleetingly hid in its shell of sequestered oblivion; as the blanket of poignantly crimson clouds soon took a insurmountably bountiful grip of the fathomless sky,

The cry of the dewdrops was beautifully exhilarating; although it pathetically evaporated into bits of open space; as soon as the Sun blazed to its domineeringly
profound radiance in the boundless sky,

The cry of the leaves was mystically seductive; although it transformed into a diminutively subdued mellow; as the victoriously advancing gusty wind now became a song of charismatic love,

The cry of the newly born was Omnisciently effusive; although it became a fugitive impression of its ownself; as the years advanced and the web of inevitably insidious commercialism took disgusting control,

The cry of the brain was fantastically unfathomable and incessantly exploring; although it transited into an inferno of lackadaisical disparagement; as the savagery of uncouth society salaciously overpowered every intricate arena of survival,

The cry of the conscience was irrefutably honest; although it sporadically manipulated itself every now and again; as existence was of the most quintessentially paramount importance amidst the pack of satanically lecherous wolves,

The cry of breath was charismatically sensuous; although it veritably finished in limited amounts of unfurling time; as the strokes of destiny eventually had their unavoidably final say,

But the cry of the heart was immortally unassailable; come what may; passionately shuddering even centuries immemorial after wholesome diminishing of the bodily
form; perpetually uniting with God's most pricelessly Omnipotent beats of love.

by Nikhil Parekh

Comments (7)

niced one.. good poe, ...10 Give same honor to female Who has born you and not failed It was her endeavor to see you in healthy state She was your protector guardian till date
nice one.. good poem...10 Give same honor to female Who has born you and not failed It was her endeavor to see you in healthy state She was your protector guardian till date
Sweet sweet words for a mother to hear from her child
A visit to the dreamland waiting out yonder, A trip to the fairy land along with mother., A dream of a child unfolded very marvelously through this sweet song. Thanks for sharing it here.
Really a great poem on mother. Sweet dreams laden it with love divine. Quite a successful effort. A perfect 10 for it.
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