There must be an eternal fountain
Where the creative ink flows
A secluded hamlet where all Muse resides
A museum where all seer poets are featured
The laureates from earlier centuries
Adorning the walls of ‘Hall of Fame’
Their legacy passed on to next centuries
Some through narratives or written manuscripts
Omnipresent, to provide the guiding light
To pen the narratives, metaphors, onomatopoeia
The rhyme schemes- Ballade, Chant royal, Cinquain, Ottavia
But most important of all is the rhythm of the heart
And when the heart and soul coalesce, it creates literature
The rhyming schemes of our mind, heart and soul
Is what the composition of a passionate writing is**






© Amitav (Radiance)

Here I am, at the end of the road
With a darkness raging like a fire, it burns me till I cannot feel.
I cry silent tears, a mix of salt and dreams, as I catch myself from falling,
From the edge of life, from the peak of my fears.

Take away from me, my past and all that holds me
Give me a light I know I can shine forth, one that guides me home.
Cleanse me from this plague in my heart
With a reason to see beyond the chains that bind me.
Find me a home, a promised land, one where You and I can be .

~

I dream, I do
My mind, though of past returns,
pictures life as it could be…
only in a dream?

“Would she look at me if she knew?”

Fantasies painted on textured walls,
curves where straight lines have lived
Brush strokes of trembling fingers,
fearing that it could be…perhaps

Then the picture comes into view
like an open curtain to Eden
Fruited and vibrant in luscious folds,
beneath an arbor of frantic delight

Sunlight blinks as beauty beckons
from across fields and valleys
Overgrown of tall grasses and imagination
Flowing on a soft summer breeze

“Paintings now live in the minds of those who dream”

Wide is the canvas which sits
like an oasis for the eyes,
a spring for quenching thirst, food of wide-eyed wishes
now fading into the shadows of…impossible

For this that I see has taken my heart
sent it off to dance in nervous steps
across a floor on satin sheen
and sawdust scratches…slipping away

A poster on the wall announces the opening act
coming soon, live and in person…I stand
a wreck, a shivering mass of never,
melting slowly into the audience of hidden backgrounds

“Would she look at me if she knew?”

I dream, I do
My mind, though of past returns,
pictures life as it could be,
only in a dream…