IMAGES

 There Ends the Journey of Wisdom 

 

 

From the finishing point of seasons
Images write;
for the washed off shores
for the footsteps which lost its rhythm..
Rekindled not a belief
Softened not a silent impolite ego
From the confinement cells
words arrive in fine filters
From shadows to the banyan tiaras
Images in subtle earthen hues format life..

Finish..
Finish…
Who whispers near the eastern dawn?
Images stand in concurrence to write
against the flag post of chiseled egos..

In washed off shores, In sea shells,
Images grow beyond the vastness of a flag post
Where peace shatters
crushing green olives of Parthenon
there falls the flag post
there scatter seasons
there fall the last exclamation mark..
there ends the journey of wisdom..
Finished… isn’t?

IT WAS NOT A DREAM

 

 


Once
I looked upon a majestic hill near Kedar
Years rolled on seasons
and it  was raining in gardens
while i was in my eastern sea shores
i watched the hill falling
like a paper pillar,
It wasn't a dream
it was floating in front of me
grounded, as if to finish off
its own rude rancor....