Life = Death - Volume 5 - Poems on Life , Death by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

10. THE CRY OF THE HEART 

The cry of the lion was majestically thunderous; although it died as the minutes rapidly unveiled; with the stupendous tranquility of the forests taking wholesome control,

The cry of the clouds was insatiably voluptuous; although it faded after a while; as the Sun Omnipotently enlightened even the most infinitesimal entity in neighboring vicinity,

The cry of the shark was royally piercing; although it diminished almost as soon as it had come; with the unfathomably undulating wave wholesomely drowning it into an ocean of mesmerizing froth,

The cry of the eagle was exuberantly aristocratic; although it vanished surreptitiously from the sky in an ethereal flash; as cyclonically untamed maelstroms perpetuated the canvas of the panoramic valley,

The cry of the nightingale was melodiously enchanting; although it blended with the aisles of nothingness after a while; as the triumphantly trumpeting elephants insatiably marauded the meadows; left; right and rampant center,

The cry of the gloriously unflinching warrior was supremely ecstatic; although it coalesced with threadbare mud in an ethereal instant; as an unsurpassably unending tirade of pugnacious bombs; brutally plummeted upon him from the enemy camp,

The cry of the waterfalls was harmoniously enchanting; although it dried up as quickly as flashes of lightening thunder; as the tyranny of the acrimoniously sweltering day evaporated every bit of it; into wisps of obsoletely disappearing oblivion,

The cry of the bee was boisterously swarming; although it soon mellowed to an inconspicuous trace of its original self; as the scent of the magnanimously everlasting lotus unconquerably enshrouded everything above hard ground,

The cry of the seductress was ebulliently tantalizing; although it disappeared into the ingredients of nothingness like a trice of a bullet; as the silken magic of the titillating night soon gave way to the hideously monotonous day,

The cry of the clocktower was stringently meticulous; although it quickly subsided into a corpse of morbid meaninglessness; as the lanky arm struck past the wonderfully reverberating hour,

The cry of the rainbow was resplendently vivacious; although it fleetingly hid in its shell of sequestered oblivion; as the blanket of poignantly crimson clouds soon took a insurmountably bountiful grip of the fathomless sky,

The cry of the dewdrops was beautifully exhilarating; although it pathetically evaporated into bits of open space; as soon as the Sun blazed to its domineeringly

profound radiance in the boundless sky,

The cry of the leaves was mystically seductive; although it transformed into a diminutively subdued mellow; as the victoriously advancing gusty wind now became a song of charismatic love,

The cry of the newly born was Omnisciently effusive; although it became a fugitive impression of its ownself; as the years advanced and the web of inevitably insidious commercialism took disgusting control,

The cry of the brain was fantastically unfathomable and incessantly exploring; although it transited into an inferno of lackadaisical disparagement; as the savagery of uncouth society salaciously overpowered every intricate arena of survival,

The cry of the conscience was irrefutably honest; although it sporadically manipulated itself every now and again; as existence was of the most quintessentially paramount importance amidst the pack of satanically lecherous wolves,

The cry of breath was charismatically sensuous; although it veritably finished in limited amounts of unfurling time; as the strokes of destiny eventually had their unavoidably final say,

But the cry of the heart was immortally unassailable; come what may; passionately shuddering even centuries immemorial after wholesome diminishing of the bodily

form; perpetually uniting with God’s most pricelessly Omnipotent beats of love.