56. Temple Of Words Poem by Praveen Kumar in Simply Yours

However I endeavor to capture you in words,
Like labour pains, you appear to disappear in cycles;
Like thin streaks of light, you dissolve in thoughts;
I dig in deserts and grope in gulfs
For the next advent of your refreshing self.

Dust and sweat of years
Form thick sheath around you,
Mist of intervening times
Blur your frame deep inside.

The words I frame to hold your charm
Collapse like card-house by sheer weight;
The melodies I garner, fall short to hold
Rich shades of passions that sweeten your thoughts;
No metaphors, no similes equal your height,
No meanings penetrate enough your depths;
The breadth of colours, your image shows up
Leak through weak porous words of songs.
While the winnocks of memory open doors,
I wonder by the splendors you command
With dazzles of colours and soulful music;
Emotions sink to raise ripples of songs
In fresh images of melodious words.

But, alas, the doors are shut by then,
The golden rays of splendors, withdrawn;
Images break and songs go grey,
Dazzles of colours, soulful music recede
And I am left again in blinding darkness.

In distant horizons, behind darkness,
When I see you surface like streaks of dawn,
I sit straight with instruments spread
To evoke and bind you in my songs;
Alas, my songs soon go like a childless cradle.

During high tides in time's cycles,
You bring huge waves in the ocean of soul
That washes the shores of heart and mind
With melodious tunes and passions' foams;
While low tides set on the soul's trough,
All go still and disturbingly calm.

I feel your kicks from the womb of time,
I hear your wails break-out to daylight,
I know your dreams, irrepressible desires,
You carry from those ruins of sweet past;
The music of relics, the patterns of ruins
Break to soft words with the advent of you;
Colours of those days, splendors of passions
Speak in live tunes while you break to lights;
A lasting temple of words and music is built
Where you live with the past and the present for all times.

Those days, so live, must come to life,
Those sweet passions must stream again,
Those rhythms, music, colours and fragrance,
Those gentle charm, that soulful warmth,
Those sad slow tunes that lingered in soul
Must make come-back with reflective quietude
In live sweet words of the poetic world
Where no memory fails, no sprite quails,
No vision blurs, no charm dulls,
Who no times reach and weathering touch.