Poems

THE WIND The leaves touched the sky the branches waved to the tune of the wind. Brushing with a desire that it alone knew. But in the midst of the calmness it whispered into my heart, Can I be free, beyond the boundaries of my touch? Then it went along, brushing my blues, leaving marks that reveal, the impressions of my underlying passions, which were until now buried, in the depth of my memories. THE SOUL The angst of my primitive soul bursts into marks. Those which appear as impressions. The captive heart yearns to set rules those defy who made them. Rules of compassion…rules that we breathe, sigh out as voices. Some are heard but misunderstood, to reveal an identity, that is far beyond the perceptual. Now, who will hear them and what will be heard… The cry continues as a melody adapted passionately by a deaf musician,who misunderstood them …as notes from eternity. IN SEARCH OF THE FINE I GO..... In search of the fine I go, beyond my will I go. In search I go, I go and into a p...