For All Those Who Love As The Way They Paint...
For all those who love as the way they paint,
by Saheb Mohapatra
On that naked sheet with the pace of wind,
That hits his soul with that sudden bent,
And calls forth all strands waiting to bind,
This is that strand to be embodied with colors,
With reddish shades and strokes of green,
Love's like that sweet dessert of lovers
That gets itself spoiled with the rise of a sin,
Not love, if waste, nor for that golden touch,
Nor like that gay spring oak's darkest shed
Which feels his portrait in the monsoon much,
And love's tears when knows what's hurting bed.
Do love in that pure way ere it turns waste,
And make love's portrait the way it tastes.