A lunar mist spreads its wings,

subtle but frail,

a lotus floats in the unearthly hour,

into the twilight sky.

The hours of the night have passed,

but the dawn is far.

The spirit roams in the delight of the freedom

over the saffron field.

A grip is felt on the hand.

A voice hails from behind the veil

of the misty dawn.

A horseman rides away,

a gallop and a sway

a smile dawns

on the lips of the horseman as he speeds.

"I come back, embedded in the seed

of a new current of an enchanted life,

neither too soon, nor too late,

for there is a time appointed for birth and the end".

Sushama Karnik

Mar 6, 2017

GOOGLE.COM

Image: Horseman Going Away High Res Stock Images | Shutterstock

Found on Google from www.shutterstock.com

A lunar mist spreads its wings,
subtle but frail,
a lotus floats in the unearthly hour,
into the twilight sky.

The hours of the night have passed,
but the dawn is far.
The spirit roams in the delight of the freedom
over the saffron field.

A grip is felt on the hand.
A voice hails from behind the veil
of the misty dawn.
A horseman rides away,
a gallop and a sway
a smile dawns
on the lips of the horseman as he speeds.

"I come back, embedded in the seed
of a new current of an enchanted life,
neither too soon, nor too late,
for there is a time appointed for birth and the end".

Sushama Karnik
Mar 6, 2017

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The sunburst

 The feel of the slender glass of wine,

the thought of lifting and putting it to lips,

the open book has so much to say,

but let it for some time bask in the sun. This sunset is

the time of indulgence and winding your way

thru the scent of the wine and the thought of

what the pages might say.

Sushama Karnik. 30-05-2021

Raindrops, come, I long for you
with the longing of the oceans,
the river's dry beds,
the peacocks thousand eyes,
looking for the colour missing from the plume,
Come without thunder, with no lightening streaks of a surprise;
come heavy with love that cannot be contained long.

Let each drop be bound
in undivided strength
that will cut through rocks and the avalanche melt.

The fire has been razing to the ground
the trunks and the branches;
the ice has been of a white blue flame

Between the fire and the ice the universe swings
and no lullabies the ocean sings
can put to sleep
the child crying,

The nights are dark when the child cries,
and no fairy-tales, however divine
can put a child to sleep.

Rain, you know how the earth yearns
when your long absence burns
the soil and the fields
and the thirsty birds.
Shield and cover the crust of the earth from the callous mockery of the sun.

Sushama Karnik. (c)

The image was Originally shared by Hector Merced - 12 comments on this post on G+

The Yerres, Rain - Gustave Caillebotte

 Givenchy and Audrey Hepburn in Paris, c.1980s

The winter fog followed around

as those two walked along,

anonymous.

In that closeness was a warmth;

their hands were deep in the coat pockets,

they barely touched each other.

Pensive, some sadness,

some thoughts, some dreams

made a confluence of moods

on her face which carried

the marks of time.

She looked down at the road,

and he listened intently,

as if they were standing still

on the cliff of a hill

measuring the immensity of time

on the road they walked.

Sushama Karnik

GOOGLE.COM

Image: In the Trenches: Celebrity Trench Coats Through the Years | Audrey ...

Found on Google from www.pinterest.com

May 14, 2015

Originally shared by Sushama Karnik

A rose when sunk in a bed of thorns
asked the thorn to leave its scented bed and sing a song
The thorn picked up the lute and sang
a toxic song that took a wing
and ascended the heaven.
Seeing silence all around
the thorn descended and arrived in hell.
There were chaos and applause all around.
the hall of Dunces, full of ovation,
made an amalgam of drunken glee and a violent ecstasy.
Hours blended with moments and moments made years of degenerate fancy
and the thorn remained imprisoned in the jail of sycophancy.
When awakened out of the inebriate joy,
 the thorn switched back to the memory of the rose.
Away, in a different sphere, there was a lake in the twilight gleam,
carrying in its heart a forgotten song, the scent of a different dream.
The memory of the thorn was erased forever.
A silent lake slept in the arms of the moon.

 This tree was planted in ancient soil.

Its roots have dived deep.

The citadels grew around the tree

in much later times.

Braving the storms and the shifting seasons,

the tree and the citadels grew together,

casting shadows on each other.

Over time, the reins of power changed hands.

Generations came and passed

but the edifice stood and the tree watched,

standing firm and steady

through the years of intermittent sorrow and glory.

This is how hope is embedded in the soil.

It grows with time and learns to nurture the seeds,

the branches and the roots.

The edifice standing in the vigilant shadow

learns to adapt to change.

The tree, the archetype of Hope,

is the secret of the strength with which we build and shield.