Worms of wrong prophets eat into flesh. A feverish state builds the fancied walls of Jericho while your radiance strangles within the nauseating cobwebs. I wish to hear the melody of wonder that floats in the rhythm of harmony. The lost gulls of harmony hover over the bay of the dying day. Where is the water that flows from the spring of your grace? The emerging age shall bathe in the vitality of the freshness of its dawn. ================================== (2) Through the cracks in the crumbling walls of now I grab particles of the dust from the diamonds of your shoreless abode of the fathomless bliss. More than the sweet sobbing melodies the amaze of the amazing abode of your calm grace is to me. Its recollections tiptoes in the caves of my words and its sobering silence plays with the lips of my thinking. ====================================== (3) When the spectre of gloom looms in the gown of fear, escape by the boat of self draws me closer to you. Swayed by the waves of the softening solitude from the shores unknown I lose my being in you. The dove emanates as a fire of faith from the driving drifts at the altar of the deity of demands where humans assert their uncertainties. ================================= (4) In your sight I see a Moses reflecting on the glass of my solitude. The dazzle of the star signs the death note to my darkness. From the disarrangement of the void a lake appears. I hear murmurs from the ripples of the dawn. The fishes of the still harbour sense the star while manna from the moon burst into the petals of my strength. I wish to swing under the wings of our affinity on the steps of a mystic. A deepening silence knocks out the mobile launchers of restlessness as dryness mocks the paralysis of life. ============================= (5) I am often greeted by the bursting flutters of the dove while rambling the rayless resort of the fears from the scamps of my surrounding. I hear some unknown voice calling her to be above the confusing cries of mindless feverishness and the hounds of alienation from the houses of infamy of social upheavals. I see her fleeing from the blinding fog of unfulfilled human dreams, blank eyes facing blank walls of the present, half-blossomed flowers of the youth of aspirations, meaningless pledges of our leaders, and above all those concerns which lie in the locker of the anchored ship of memories. A soothing glow from a fireplace of compassion that would radiates the redness of young lips from the future, burning the decaying stems of the buds of the past, should entice that dove before the last star of the evening bids her farewell for ever. ============================== (6) In a cabin of inaction built with beams of silence often I long to slumber on a couch with no flesh of worries. For me soft drops of harmony shall produce a lullaby from the notes of now.