PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The night is a lone traveller,

It has its stars and moons,

And other cosmic companions,

But no one to talk to.

So similar to my present state,

Famous for my poetry the world over,

Admired by almost one and all,

Fame is mine as destined by Fate.

But like the night, I too sit and wait,

For the hours to go by,

The stars and at times the moon,

Do attract me with a lovely glance,

Yet, on the heart there is a weight.

I who am admired and respected,

Have been abandoned by the ones,

I loved with all my heart, from childhood,

Mother, father, brother, sisters, a lovely girl

(I believed she was meant to be mine),

But father had other plans and we parted,

It is more greivous than all the love stories,

Ever written...I am writing mine...but plodding....

My hands do not support my heart and mind...

Well, she was separated from me,

I have promised a loved one at the moment,

That I won't write about her more.

So, let me not break my word.

Let me sit quietly with the silent night,

And let the universe keep revolving,

The constellations and their mythical heroes,

Along with their mythical heroines,

As given a name by the blind Homer,

Perhaps to be so for centuries.

THe moon too is a cresent which sets soon,

And after it is full it is again a late riser.

I wish I had a loving soul to sit with me,

Share my observations, talk and ask me,

About Cassiopiea, Pericles, Aldebaran,*

The late rising Scorpius having many names:

The "Dragon", The "Scorpion", "The Eagle:

And also, sadly enough, the "Grey Lizard"/

A flask of tea, some biscuits and icy water,

To ward of the hot brisky wave of the hot wind,

Which often howls and hoots on such nights.

And my loved one, sharing my experiences,

Asking me all that she would like to ask,

And me not getting tired at all,

To respond to her curious questions,

As both of us gaze through the telescope,

And refer to the Greek book of myths,

Based on the heroes Homer made of stars.

It is just a wish which I wanted to be fulfilled,

When I was young and youthful and adventurous.

However, as I have said above, while Fate gave fame,

And the admiration of the world to me.

I could not manage to get a loved one,

With a loving gaze in her deep, deep eyes,

And an echoing laughter to lend music,

That can silence the hot and hooting wind,

and cool it down with her melodious voice,

And break the stillness of the floating night.

Am I asking for too much? I do wonder,

Girls and women rave for me and crave.

For an evening out with them.

But I am an old fashioned man,

I cannot say yes to just an evening,

Of drinks, laughter, dance and fun.

It is simply not in my blood.

I need a permanent, caring, loving soul,

Who can make the creation especially night,

Envy me and her and let nothing ever,

Come in between to mar our splendorous time,

When, me and my love, sing and laugh,

Dance, share stories about the moon and stars.

Discuss the Bard, Keats, Emily Bronte,

Omar Khayyam, Rumi, Kahlil Jibran,

Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen,

And of course Thomas Eliot: the fine poet,

Who I feel, like me, sought all these,

Until he got fed up and gave it up:

And rose up with his wise words:

"This is the way the world will end,

"Not with a bang but with a whimper".

For without a constant loving soul,

Even Eden was not much for Adam,

Let me pause for now and hear the owl,

Another lonely one, who seeks, like me.