As they write
A lifetime they have pledged to the tightropes
attempting to view the world in a different light,
while loitering continually at that treacherously narrow line
demarking offsprings of fantasies from life’s facts,
as they bury themselves under the shroud of their talent
willingly getting soaked in the sweat of sacrifices.
Images that spill from the chalice of creativity,
and trickle down as mystic rivulets of thoughts,
keep cascading in their enlightened soul without a pause,
as coal black ink begin to inscribe ageless words,
igniting a spark of divinity in blank parchments,
while ideals of that seemingly never attained perfection,
taunts them by raising the bar a bit higher.
In solitude, they do surrender their minds,
unconditionally to the imperious command of muses,
undertaking journeys into both the past and future
before returning to the inevitable present,
sharpened to pluck out the seeds of truth from lies’ fleshy layers
yet gentle enough to blossom at the slightest touch of beauty.
And on some neatly arranged rows in the bookshelves,
in the yellowed pages of a well worn book,
they watch with pride their infallible legacies,
of words set aglow with the flame of passion,
to be hungrily devoured by all kindred souls,
hoping that they would defy the parameters of change and time,
in their gradual ascension to eternity.
©2016 Anjana Vipin E
(A humble tribute to all my poetic friends)