Valsa George Poems

I want to go back to my past
When tame pigeons of joy nested on my eaves
And I could hear their crooning
With the sweetness of love outpouring
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I know, I grow old….. I grow old
When silver threads peek in my head.
The flush on radiant cheeks wanes,
And a pallid tint creeps unseen.
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Hearing squeals of laughter outside
I looked out...
Saw tiny feet running down the pavement
‘Wow.... See the flower in the air'
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On a bleak and frosty night
Vexed and weary two travellers rode
Along the pathways-craggy and ragged
From Nazareth, trudging miles on end
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I hear the whispering of a wind from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As the wind pounces on them like wayside thieves
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Writing of a poem
Oh! How it can be likened
To having a baby!

With the copulation of fancy and thought,
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After coloring my head with dye
I leave my damp hair open to dry
Thus my age, I conceal.
Careful not to reveal,
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My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at a sight so blest
That any poet would treasure with zest
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She sits by the window motionless
Looking at the sky getting darker
Inside her a sea swells, tides of memories
Beat her heart, the only keepsake she has
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A captive to stark loneliness
He had only dark shadows for company
Wandering aimless from place to place
with the burden of years on his back
...