I may not be the sun.
But, can I still be the beam on your tranquil waters?
My eagle, I may not have the wings as wide as the yacht sail as yours.
Can I walk under the shadow of your wings?
I may not be the picture, perfect to the eyes of the painter..
He stacks me along with some other unfinished works in one corner of his room.
I am not his unfinished painting.
I am as random as the strokes he splashed on the canvas when emotions couldn't be given any better shape.
Can you keep me safe in the cedar box where your treasures are kept safe?
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1 comments:
....The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind....
Why I don't know, it instantly reminds me of those ending lines of that beautiful song...
I always prefer classical form of literary expressions than the modern; and, this one goes on through the lanes and bylanes of those Victorian era where emotion meets not as a bystander...but as a close acquaintance..shares remotest corners of soul that lie ignored in the darkness of alienation, yet aspiring for some rays of comforting glimpses...
It's a treasure..who keeps not it safe, values it not, is a loser by own fate !
Thanks, for sharing such a rich composition, Jui !
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