Left on the desk,
there is a Note...
Awaiting to be Picked...
Left on a Hand,
there a Wish...
Awaiting to be Held...
Left in a Time,
there is a tone...
Awaiting to be Sung...
Left in some Eyes,
there is a Good-Will...
Awaiting to be seen...
Left in the frame,
there is a smile...
Awaiting for the full moon...
Left on the desk,
there is a Note...
Awaiting to be Picked...
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On D Shore
Dance is the Song... the Wind... the Freedom... Dance is the Hidden Language of the Soul...
Endless
On D Shore
Followers
My few lines...
Like Wind that cannot be captured...
Like Sand that flows through...
Like depth of Ocean that cannot be measured...
Like gushing Rivulet that surges askew...
Heart lives...
Profound, Time Unbound...
Like Sand that flows through...
Like depth of Ocean that cannot be measured...
Like gushing Rivulet that surges askew...
Heart lives...
Profound, Time Unbound...
Yahoo!
It’s not how you forget,
but how you forgive…
It’s not how you listen,
but how you understand…
It’s not how you see,
but how you feel…
It’s the two souls touching,
without a blend.
The two flanking fingers of the hand…
It’s the hold you have,
without the grip...
The true love in all hardships...
but how you forgive…
It’s not how you listen,
but how you understand…
It’s not how you see,
but how you feel…
It’s the two souls touching,
without a blend.
The two flanking fingers of the hand…
It’s the hold you have,
without the grip...
The true love in all hardships...
2 comments:
things left unsaid.. like an unfinished symphnoy... the notes hanging in the air... fading but still clear... there but not quite there... why do i get a heavy feeling when i read this poem?
simple...
it was meant to be picked,
not left...
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