When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
For The Ones Who Never Met
Sparkling you, dissolved.. Love I found, smuggled.
ishq ki tamanna sirf saara jahaan.. baarish ke nishaan aasmaani
I remember this from Abstract (yes?) and have read it 3-4 times.
ReplyDeleteBut, it strikes me different this time.
Now it seems to hinge upon
"smiles unmet, wandered."
Makes me wish smiles would meet and stop wandering. :)