And on a windy evening
i opened my door
resisting
murmers of wind
to find the depth and stillness
staying together
in a lake with thousands of inhabitants.
I got stuck.
stuck not like a lake.
just the opposite.
The agony of being a fragment;
a wiery line, not in sync with my poet
every time i see a lake, I'm sick with poverty.
6 comments:
Dear sreejitha, sudeep
lake was beside me
lake was inside me
lake was spread bellow the sky
lake was for IT-high.
you caught it
sent it
will keep in eye
Lata
darling sreee
love to you
........
and whither the lake isle of innsfree that i talked to you about once...
where the pain?
what the mask?
sree
when do the lake be still?
sree
when in life the first strains of red appear, you want to cry..
tears that lakes in your mind like the oceans you have not wept many times..
sree
is death the only stillness?
is life the real death?
Now i have my pains. It has been a long and successful way! To have pains.. yeah from where it started; ie Being pain.
As it becomes clear
...life is possible in stillness
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