WAITING

Pratikshya...

Oh, My Priya…!

The ‘river’ flows touching your body,

The ‘flower’ blooms blinking of your eyes,

The ‘mountain’ bows down kissing your feet,

The ‘breeze’ blows swinging of your hair.

Had I the wings of birds, I must search where you are

Had I the rhythm of flute, I must play for you anywhere.

Neither a ‘bird’ nor ‘Lord-Krishna’

It may be, if your arms being around me

And I catch you with my heart.

Still I am waiting for them…

The ‘river’ that touches you,

The ‘flower’ blooms by your eyes,

The ‘mountain’ that kisses you,

The ‘breeze’ blows by your hair.

At least they can talk me about you.

Hai, My Priya…!

Where are you and when will truth unveiled?