Coversations with Spring..

Friday night at a friend's
  for moonlight, scotch and
ravenous need for old boy's talk
  last one to peg was
the first one to fall..

Maturing weekend, a Saturday's dawn
  from the sheath of hang over &
boyish hood I start
  brisk short walk across the park
teasing breeze, mild morning, virgin it is

Feigned park's appearance &
  hunch-back trunks tell tales of
Zephyr of the twilight hour
  and its path, now mine, towards
the shell white garden bowl

That's filled with
  liquid green, smelly moss & amber browns
I stand there, by the fills that ebb
  perturbed, beyond the rims
of the bowl and my heart

Morning await
  benign pours
from the dark looming
  cotton clouds on an ageing
spring day at a hour past four

I shun purposes, of my walk,
  of reaching home
In a transcendence hang-over
  instigated by the purity around
and dirge hum of the trees

Gaelic tunes of a northward gale
  enter souls that, encircle the bowl
With hands spread and crucified to the
  priest like flow that, leaves as tears
from behind smoke-blue eyes..
~

Written last Saturday around 7.a.m after I reached home. Park that I pass through to reach my house is my Muse. There are times when I jus murmur verses to myself and never make effort to recollect and write it down. But this time I did not take much effort to put it down..the whole experience was so fluid and it came pouring. I was bit glad to find there were few other souls that seek such silent quarters and serene mornings..

Though I had my cam I did not bother to click it..It was early morning and I was lazy ..hope you'd understand..:)

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