Saturday, March 23, 2013


She seemed as if drawn by Raphaelite hands
With brows full of Egyptian grace.
And I the fond fool that has tripped in her wake
With stale little lines for her sake.

But how else to now face the surge in my veins
If not in verse I express?

Had I been a painter, I sure would've snapped
And etched a whole series to her self.
Or with an adoration fate too had shown,
Would fondle and mould, with clay her new form,
As if a new deity was born.

Stunned by the quicksilver glint in her eyes,
I lengthen my dream amid short little sighs
And hope she'll enjoy these antics perchance---
She who is worship and worshipped at once.


Amrit Sinha said...

"Had I been a painter, I sure would've snapped
And etched a whole series to her self." Loved the lines !!!

Jennifer Wagner said...

Oh this is lovely!

Scarlet said...

The muse is lovely, like a new deity born in the artist hands ~

Anonymous said...

Amazing. The rhymes really accentuate your exceptional wordsmithing. Many quotable lines throughout build incredible depth. The final verse should join the pantheon of classic passages.

Abin Chakraborty said...

I dont always get to say this:but these comments that you guys so generously make are exactly what makes this entire experience so worthwhile.Yes, I would keep on writing even if there were no readers just for my own sake.But the fact that you are there, willing to read, praise and encourage makes a world of difference.So a BIG THANK YOU to all my readers.

adhi das said...

a nice poem..GOD<3U

sayan said...

i think the last few lines kill it..both you and i know what it is to write for muses who do not know that we exist..but we write, we etch and Rembrandt them in out verses and memory..brilliant brother...