Lo and behold! Solemn tears, of sun
Wandering wastelands, for a, final tryst
Passing pilgrims, yearn for, that unison
Where forms, dissolve, only souls, persist!
How high, they soar, in endless skies
How far, they drift, thru nothingness
Till heaves, in hearts, the moorland’s sigh
“This sea-and-sun’s shroud, is life’s joy’s, caress”!
Whether white, or black, with mist, or rain
This vagabond, is, lone moorland’s, fest
Thru the, orgy of love, bliss, ennui and pain
Lay sundry shades, scattered, of the pilgrims’, quest!
What’s left, of this tryst, but a, riveting relic
Of two realms, betrothed in, immortal l’amour
In barren wilderness, Lord’s lasting, love epic
When The, Clouds Kiss, The Soul, Of The Moor!
© 2020 Vikas Chandra