Oleander Blooms Along Dark Alleys In Nocturnal Rains When the temple bell echoes an escape from ordeals of routine life With pine trees covering its banks, Brahmaputra shines like a knife. The iron is dissolved in the soul ,the oleanders start blooming The silver grey afternoon glides into the golden evening. It was the cruel April ,and the late blooming rose trees, Oleander’s car looks along dusty path like a brok’n promise. Oleanders bloomed all around as if in Beethoven’s symphony Whispers on the metalled road, dry , chiselled and stony. Oleander texted from her Nokia Lumiere, ‘Love is no smiles ,no fears, Love is no flowers, Love is nervousness, Love is only tears’. One poem for Oleander, every day, too difficult it is But it must be written , she knew, it was a Promise. Forgive the disobedient heart that hums ‘Love’ like the bees A Kiss on Oleander’s cheeks , is as sweet as the orange is. A poet’s heart is a house , left empty without light in it It was like a forest with oleanders, soft moon eclipsed in the heat Sorrows revealing tentacles, ,make life all bullshit Only after Oleander did come, a lamp was found lit. Oleander may be Ophelia, Jessica or a Banalata Sen No ink flows , only blood oozes out of a romantic poet’s pen. The dark threshold bears the great load of silence Dying with agony and anguish really makes no sense Oleander made the poet forget the pangs of life, and the pains Oleanders still bloom along dark alleys in the nocturnal rains.
Posted on: Thu, 03 Apr 2014 14:50:27 +0000
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