Delightful reveries

Don't they have stories to tell? The ever transient skies, Changing from blue to pink to purple and black, They contain clouds of stories, willing to burst forth , But no one to listen, They sing songs of rage, Only the thunder applauds, They cry out in agony,  And lightning strikes. The leaves that fall off trees, And drift as the wind takes them, Seem to shy to tell their stories... The wind that whispers words into your hair, Carries a treasure trove of stories, Breathed into it by the trees, the sand and the life around. Don't you have stories to tell? Of the stuff you are made off, What made you you, And what you mask in those liquid eyes and behind that smile?             ~Ashwini.V

The wind whispers occasionally, on a silent,starry night. The rythmic tick-tocks of the clock and the peaceful breathing of others sleeping quietens the mind. An occasional thudding of a door somewhere, and a car roaring to life can be heard. But the night has only begun. As the night gently turns darker,murkier, the world around becomes quieter, And the sound,of our own breathing can be heard. The night begins to get chilly, and the wind becomes playfully still, as the night progresses to its darkest phase, before dawn. And yet the chilly wind whispers occasionally, on a silent starry night.

And I'm back with a bang!!!! Meanwhile, this is what happened in AshVland: A poem ;) It rains noisily, I jump and run fast, Trying to find shady trees, my feet splashing against puddles and wet leaves. I run for cover, when I hear footsteps, following me to the tree. My heart lurches and races and pounds to be free. These are the footsteps of my past whose eyes stare at me, boring into the back of my body. I breathe heavily trying to forget my past, watching a thin tree run past. I almost trip, still living in the past. Finally find  a tree, Heave a sigh of relief, only to find that,my past has followed me quietly, to my grief. I try to stare back at it, look it in the eye, it gleams of failures wrought on it. I shut my eyes, unable to bear, try to disconnect, leave it under the tree, yet the heart looks back as I run in front, trying to become free. The rain has stopped. So that was the poem!! How did y...

All for a rainy day:) I can hear the footsteps of rain , As it walks along roads and pathways , Creating lil puddles . Puddles of joy , That once were eagerly awaited for. I can hear the rain , Softly talking to the trees And bringing the soft breeze, That chills me, down to the bone. I can hear the rain , And feel its little droplets Fall on my face and arms, As I open myself, to the rain .

                                Where the smooth gray road seems never ending,                                 by whose side little patches of  greenery,alternated with farmers'                                acres of growing crops are there to give company,                                Where the sun shines ever so gently                                 & the light cool breeze wafts through and plays with your face,                                Where life seems all so easy and simple,   ...

Beautiful is the sky at night with the stars glittering by the moonlight The purple clouds pass by sometimes hiding the moon so shy. The night so silent advances stealthily hiding a tiger hunting for its prey noiselessly The quiet gurgles of the stream nearby soothe the poet watching it pass by. The sky turns lighter with each passing hour ending the adventure with the dark A bud blooms into a flower as the first streaks of dawn have clearly made their mark. :)