PRT (February 28,1948 / Kathmandu)


On the stone canvas
Beside the stream flowing onwards
Brushes dipping in
Each colors of the spectrum
Dispersed by the sun rays
Thru' the watery surface of the stream
Painted a beautiful damsel
With sweet lively smile that
Speaks for herself
Every second of the day
Every stranger passing by this stream
Standing still for a while
Staring at her beauty that
Creates the passionate love in his heart
Knowing her nature in reality
With tears in his eyes
And gloom in his face
Passes his way desperately
As the time passing by
A passerby who fell in deep love with her
Turned lunatic by her beauty
Rinsed away the image as whole
By the flowing waters from the stream
Only the stone left as it is
But no canvas longer
The passerby breathes
Purely satisfied in his mind
As sacrificed herself for his love
And passes by his own way to eternity
Swearing never to return this way again

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Comments (1)

Pushpa, I like to think of a poem as sugar and water boiled down to leave a crystal. You have some good ideas for a poem, but your language drones on and on. Look at this more critically and see what you can cut away to leave only the crystal. You can do it! Raynette