Saturday, December 5, 2009


Steaming down the noonday blaze
I merge with silent crowds on street
With sweat-lined faces, charred as coal,
Wading as through sea of sand.

Then like oasis Magic-born
Your face appears and pouring shade
Thrills me with that sweetest voice
As like dreamt of nightingale.

At once I chime with speechless song
And throb with bliss of breathless days.


Sui Generis said...

Oh ! you seem to be in Wordsworthian if mid the din of towns n cities you are haunted by that soothing feeling...good job

Robert said...

yeats meets keats

Robert said...

a very beautiful piece of work. she must have had a sweet little voice that mesmerised the young poet. charmed him. gave him peace. the solitary reaper amidst city din.