Beauty is what, you felt within

Butterflies speak, that beauty is tender
If beheld, ever pleasing to eye
But touch it and, diminished in a breath

Try not ever, to contain beauty
It is to sense, and not to obtain
Capture the essence, never the object

Beauty is actually, felt by you within
Not the object but you, found its beauty
Not appreciated, beauty, is any other

If you like a song, a poetry, a tune
Wish not that others do, for you felt, not they
Rejoice in the feeling, for it is the same
As wished for by saints, in spiritual quest

Life, Fruitless

Tired spirit, frustrated mind,
Oh how long will you, bide your time

If not now, it never will be
Only older, you'll not get younger see!

Piercing pain, the pang of heart
Weary eyes, in search of path

If this is life, a prolonged wail
Why this life, do we live in vain?

Do you mean what you say?

I dream about you, I said to her
Could I have been, more false to her
For dreams are not, actually true
Unless you choose, to make them to

I think of you, I surmised to her
Could I have been, ever so sure
For thoughts are fleeting, come to think of it
It's what you hold, that matters if at all

I love you, of course I blurted
Could I have been, really that artless!
For love is not, a feeling my dear
It is commitment to self, more than to you

Life By Water

Sweet Rain, pouring on Street
black, lacking in country Dust
soft, with fragrance as perfume

Caring Cloud, bathing the Tree
green, laden with fresh Fruit
ripe, with taste as nectar

Loving River, meeting the Ocean
blue, pregnant with water Life
waiting, as for mother's milk