All the maybe-wondrous possibilities,
All the could-have-beens,
All the positively-worth-exploring,
Rest, and rest some more.
Author / Shiva Sharan
Out of sight, out of mind
And right below that tar pit of deep-seated, conjured-up notions
Lay that elusive thing called blue skies,
Called happiness.
The Artist and The Muse
The artist seeks,
The muse reciprocates.
The artist is on a wayward journey,
Of fascination, and of fantasy,
The muse simply has to be.
Something that stirs, the artist seeks,
The lying mass underneath
And the muse, simply by means of being,
Bestows upon the artist,
That quality, that framework,
That welcome respite,
That the artist seeks.
And thus, by doing none other than being,
The muse reciprocates.
Respite
Thinking about you,
Talking to you,
Being in your presence,
Soaking in your aura,
Gives me a respite
From all the madness,
From all the frenzy.
Parallel worlds
And I’m thankful for the delightful bit of nonsense crap
That we shared together;
The unspoken words rest,
Knowing that they’d seldom come out.
Playing God
And all those unspoken thoughts and intentions,
The beauty of them,
Drowned by incessant chatter,
Resurface, when given a chance.
A great big adventure
I fantasise about getting to know you, everyday —
Your skin glistens as I seek to discover the unbound pleasures of you,
Of the thought of you
Tremors course through your body as I make my way to the pot of gold,
Shimmery and dazzling
Rivulets appear in places where one would want to find them,
Gleaming in all their glory.
I find my way through the lush meadows, lusher than ever,
Heading over uncharted terrain, marking my territory
With romance, and with poetry;
Neverfound lands, newfound sensations
Sensations of adventure, and sensations of transcendence,
Taking in everything, taking in you.
I drink from the abundant wells, I lap it up all up
I swoon, I coddle
I give all I can give, and some more
For I’m a seeker, and I seek to know you
I’m a lover, and I yearn to love you
And I dream about making endless passion with you.
The story of the giver, the one who gave too much
The giver,
The one who gives too much
The one who has too much to give
Lies curled up in a corner
‘Cuz all he ever wanted
Was to be given the same amount.
Observing, versus the fine art of constant doing
And the majestic tree stands,
Still as life,
As the chaos unfolds,
Bustling in and bustling out —
Taking it all in,
Content in its disposition,
Content, and beautiful,
Growing all the while,
Taking in the sights,
Taking in everything.
Youth on fire
Feverish energy
Unbounded urges
All of life’s passion —
The raucousness of youth
The restlessness of hormones
The mind in daze
The heart on fire
The almost-touches, the almost-grazes
A glorious pot of burning gold
Bursting to swathe you, all over
In gold, in silver
In silver, and in gold;
Swimming in the glory
Never felt so good.
A Sight into My Psyche 