Blue, vivid blue,
Deep, sonorous, mysterious sea,
Ebbing away to leave me parched,
Till I yearn for her.
Waves recoil, return to sender,
Sands are etched with memories,
Of waves that once were,
Every grain longs for her.
Keepsakes are they,
Lying in her wake,
Those forlorn sea-shells,
That forever sing of her.
Someday the tide will turn,
Vagrant waves, they will return,
Wash away my melancholia,
Undulate with joy.
9 comments:
sniff!
you moved me
Beautiful!!
::frantic applause::
And the booker prize goes to ....
:-D
I'm terrible with commentaries and criticisms...can I just say that I like it?
And...just being a wee bit curious...are u in love?
Thanks, I value your opinion. I really thought I was no good at poetry.
Its about somebody from my past.
In both this and Conversation (I think, I'm bad with titles) - the short one where you were talking the two of you drawing each other - and in The Sea - you assoicate waves with her. And blue and green.
I don't know who she is, but she exists, and is real to you, so other facts don't matter from the writer's point of view. Nor a reviewer's. If you want to share details, you will, so I won't pester you with questions there.
Do you like the sea? Does she? Or is it just instinctive that you link her and the waves / sea? If you do, do you want to share why the link? Is there any reason why you picked so much blue and green in your writing (There is in many pieces)
Do you not know? Am I asking too many questions? Or is it just me and my tendency of reading too much into things?
Camphor:
Can I say that I am flattered? I know I am not of any mettle or consequence to merit a critique. Your interest in my blog indeed helps my self esteem :-)
Your questions don't peeve me, rather I interpret them as friendly overtures. I shall respond gleefully.
Some images from early childhood persist a lifetime. My memory of the sea is one such. Little Wriju was a lonely child and as such the sea has been his dearest companion. The sea is always there and I trust she loves me deeply.
The sea is mysterious, for there is so much beneath the surface and the blue-green waves. The sea is deep, a silent all-knowing depth that doesn't need to boast. The sea is moody too, usually calm but at times violent and tempestuous. The sea is my muse :-)
With regards to the real person/s the poems are about, I prefer allusions and indirection so much more to stating facts. I am not among those who would call a spade a spade. I prefer the sonorous silence of the sea!
There is an interesting similarity between you and me. I am intense and always dig deep :-)
Ah. Then your obsession wiht the sea is quite understandable.
Now blue-green waves - Kerala or Bengal? Wriju seems like a Mallu name. Assuming India, that is.
Since you responded to those questions with such glee, I'm going to assume that questions are welcome. You, of course, don't have to answer anythignyou don't want to. (lol, like I needed to tell you that. What can I do, me is slightly melodramatic too)
Hopefully Little Wriju is still hanging around someplace.
WR to the real person(s) ~ Teh indirect effect is more effective. To me, at least. :)
I do call a spade a spade. But still... something are better off not named. In some cases, love.
Me? Intense? *loks around* Nope, I'm not intense. Just dig deep. :D Call it curiousty, shall it?
Did you read Hamlet?
"I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." :-)
Camphor, to dig deeper, you'll have to write me.
Post a Comment