Within Molly

Posted by prashant on Apr 19, 2012 in Featured, Poetry | 0 comments

I seldom write of love
For I have gone through the cycles
Of ecstasy, pain and longing

The streets of everyday life
Filled with commotion
And banalities that take you edge

Everyday life with its simplicity
Plays with you

The reprieve from the inane
Seems to reside in eyes of the beloved
In the mischief they hold
As if they hold some secret to life

In the dark corners of loneliness
Reside the echoes of her voice
Ones that resonate not in the ear
But in the soul

With every syllable
They carry not the contour of her voice
But of her skin
They visit the fragments of existence
Often missed by the conscious mind

The breathe in exile
Is exhaled
Only to inhale
Her memories
And her touch
For in Molly
Resides the mythical being
The being of existence
That merges within itself.

P.s 1: Note: This poem is an extension of the first one in this series, the first one that was written for Molly. The meanings and contexts will be clear to for whom this is intended. For the rest, it is just another attempt at blabbering.

P.s 2: The author of the poem is an odd-ball, doing odds job at odd times. An engineer by qualification, he does everything other than related to the field of engineering.  He, which basically means I as the I am in the habit of referring to myself as some other person, runs a vocabulary gig by the name of www.wordpandit.com and is free enough to take up workshops across North India.