alongthestream...

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

For the parched desert,
the showers were a blessing.
as the drops trickled in,
life seemed to course through.

Being denied brutally of what
had been assumed to be perenial.
Something deep inside snuffed out,
With a dismissal not unfirmly done.

1 comment:

Guruprasad said...: i think all poetry is born of one of two things - fullness or the longing for it.

we both know where our poems would get slotted :); August 28, 2009 at 11:49 AM

Makes Sense...

~ " To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness. -Bertrand Russell. "

~ " Writing is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as the headlights, but you make the whole trip that way. -E.L. Doctorow. "

~ " While fame impedes and constricts, obscurity wraps about a man like a mist; obscurity is dark, ample, and free; obscurity lets the mind take its way unimpeded. Over the obscure man is poured the merciful suffusion of darkness. None knows where he goes or comes. He may seek the truth and speak it; he alone is free; he alone is truthful, he alone is at peace. -Virginia Woolf. "