The author, Nandishi Shriram

The author, Nandishi Shriram
Colors myriad, yet a land unexplore

Saturday, September 29, 2012

A screeching bird

A screeching bird rests on my soft pillow
She sleeps a nightmare of unrest

Onto which we have tortured, clamped, held her wings
It is just a wallowing bird
Yet we treat it so

For where do the pain and hurt go
Of pasts long forgotten

Where can the loved ones go?
If the hells that are long lost
If not in a yawning chasm
Remember me once more o beloved

When I kiss you goodbye
I wave to you in a fading twilight
That gathers me in its rambunctious folds

Move into a Light that envelopes you
For only that Light can be seen that is of a further nature

If that bird does get freed, then allow it to be a free spirit
Into yonder it flies, into yonder
Into a restful sleep

It is a bird of metaphoric symbols
Of life, lost and found so

Forgive it its follies
For it is now at rest
In a twilight that only some can see

For we have yet to accomplish the morrow
Of many, many lives

Of many sins, of many deeds untold

Let there be no more screeching of the birds, of tempests forgotten
Of sorrows that now lie still

Goodbye O friend of many years
As you rest in a deep slumber

We will meet in the yonder of forgotten pasts
Of things left unsaid

The Liliting Moon

The leaves smother the lilting moon
As my wandering eye gazes upon this frothy cloud
I see the imperial vision of the diamante circle
Slithering softly behind the mirage of the frothy cloud
My yearning heart skips a beat
As I imagine Him embracing me
Glistening golden beads of sweat
Arise from my bosom of heated flesh                                                                                       
The moon starts working its molten magic
As I surrender my moist rose with a gasp
Fluttering rose petals, dewy cheeks
Melting kisses, whispered love
As I rise and fall in crescendo
I imagine He has been here
Caressing away my tears
I whisper to the Moon
To let him see me, heaving thus....
A voice beckons from beyond, a whispery voice...
Of love that has long been buried
I rise from my slumber, like a maiden forlorn
I comb my wet hair, wipe my moist cheeks...
I ready myself for Him
And as I prepare in my rituals of love,
I see a vision upon the cloudy light
It is Him, he has come, a thundering man of might..
I now lay back with a benign smile,
Awaiting his footsteps, tenderly so...
I feel his vicious might, as we embrace in the eternal folds of time
I blush, for it is Him and not just a supreme manifest
He carries me away into the Shaft, the Eternal Light
Where we become one, never to part...
The Moon once more slithers from behind the Invisible Veil
I blush, yet there is no one besides me
The folds are tender, as moist as rose
Yet there is no one, no one besides me
Just a dusty, dry rose.....

Friday, September 28, 2012

The Void

The delicate weft of the green....
The bird rising in the stormy tempestuous of the green glass...
And at the euphoric tempestuous green glass
Rambling an infinitive flowing water....

But the green, the delicate, the silky weft of the infinitive flowing water..

The delicate weft of the green glass
And the bird, a rising bird...in the delicate weft

In the infinitive...a bird....and a delicate green....