Waves...

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Them waves,
they crash into the shore,
in the sunshine, softly churning,
and gurgling, and quietly whining;
oh, the pleasure untold,
like that in the symphony,
of the leaves, rustling aloof,
in the breezy drizzle,
and the pitter-patter of the rain,
on the mahogany painted roof.
And they crash,
into the shore,
and a million smiles,
break into ubiquitous uproar,
in remembrance of the days,
from my heart.
And they crash,
into the rocky sub-terrain,
that houses weeds and snails,
in sparkling iridescent green.
And then they recede,
like a child,
rebuked by her mother,
and all is quiet, for once it seems,
and the sea shells gleam,
in sunlight masked
by a cloudy sheen,
and reverberate in them the tales,
of lost souls
in existentialist ways.
And there is a loneliness,
creeping into my heart,
as I wish for her to come back.
I wish for her to stay,
this time, I wish to be foolish,
doting at her wonderful ways.
I am sad.
and my life, it seems to pass,
with hurtful impasse;
reflecting in the undulated fashion,
of the pianist's portrayal,
of melancholy and indisposition,
and in her subtle betrayal.
And the waves, at the sea shore,
they crash into the sea,
And your essence, it drives me,
everyday to this bed of sand;
the chance, and the hope to see,
you mimicking, making fun of me,
your love, teasing, grappling, slipping,
maybe even coming back to me,
your wonderful ways,
from the wonderful days of yore
all in the rhythmic ways of these waves,
that I wish,
were to crash into me,
and with a swift blow to the chest,
take my breath away,
like you so often did to me.

Kartiek Agarwal.

Inspiration: I intend this poem to be a tribute to the most enchanting symphonies of Beethoven and Claude Debussy. It's amazing what emotions these symphonies can evoke in you. I started writing this poem listening to alot of Debussy, and I was compelled to write about the beauty of nature, because I inevitably listen to his music mentally picutring picturesque scenes of nature portraying its grace and serenity and all about the little emotions on the faces of little animals. Also, I meant for this poem to be as unstructured as most of Debussy's work, that tend to flirt with notes and timings outside the domains of traditional rhythmic progressions. Somewhere in the middle of the poem, you can see a sudden change in emotion. This is when I started listening to Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". I don't think I could have written anything else while listening to that symphony, it just begs you to enter its melancholy little world. I think, you may want to listen to the "Moonlight Sonata" while reading this poem.

Ofcourse, this refers to a man searching for his lost soul, his lost friend, his lost lover in the waves.