Workshop

The Theft

 

The stretch of blue rushes in the sands;
Rolling back leaves a dampness, of distant emotions-
Of people, of foreign lands, prayers and sermons.
Of life and its essence

A soft murmur as the afternoon sun glistens off the waters,
And the wind sings in my ears- tunes of days bygone
Elements of 'survival' I drape and want to fly
To a land some far away-
Where the heavens above meet the seas
In that straight line you see.
That has defined my existence.

To breathe in the air of peace, of tranquility;
Strings of emotion with a long lost touch
Closing my eyes to the oceanic spray, I run…
I run to free my soul- just to run into her
To be lost in her arms; her love beckons.

An effort to hold, to cling to my love… washed away-
Stolen from a son by the waters of the bay.  


31-Jan-2006

More by :  Saptarshi Das

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