Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, I won't be dead till you know I am alive. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

When I write.


When I write,
I wish to paint.
When I paint,
With a pencil. Or a sketch pen,
On office blank memo's,
I wish to capture.
When I photograph,
With a click of my index finger,
I wish to write you in celluloid.
Why is my why linked to you?
Why do you form the centre of my gravity.
Gravity of consciousness,
Of dawns and dusks,
Husky, yet wheatish,
Like the shrubs that abandon,
In wanton gay,
Mirth,
The soils of my land.

Hardik Mahesh Vaidya.

Submitted: Saturday, December 07, 2013
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  • Roseann Shawiak (1/4/2014 2:58:00 AM)

    Have read this poem over and over and am still not sure if I understand totally what it's about.
    It makes sense in an opaque thought or way. Still, I like it's tone and hidden rhythm. Thank
    you for sharing, RoseAnn (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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