What Thou Made!!
By Rajul Tiwari
No matter what we create,
nothing is more beautiful than Truth...
For when it comes out of pen on Time's slate,
we become a creation, and our creation a booth...
The flowing lights from the sky,
the flower to flower hopping butterfly...
The music rendered by a hiding cuckoo,
the peacock's rain ballet in his ecstatic tutu...
Rainbows forming with sun-lit droplets,
the dancing waters wearing infinite anklets...
The dew as the perspiration of the fragrant night,
left as a mark of love on the face of dawn's light...
The Gold splashed and burning hot,
touches the earth and blows away her chilly knot...
The sun-set in the mysterious mountains,
among the crystal clear ponds and fountains...
The stars peeping and winking with naughty grace,
the moon seducing the enormous waves...
All what life makes, All what makes life,
The truth is always fertile, always ripe...
Each day, brings all this to us,
each day tries to drain all the pain and pus...
Each season, heals a previous wound,
each season brings something newly bloomed...
We inhale the messages, when we breathe,
we avail all which they breed...
A work of creation, does it all,
what is not possible from combined efforts of us all...
I bow to thee, if only we had the creative eye,
to read and understand what thou made...
This is what all the chants and holy-books cry,
even after reading them, we remain not what thou made...
By Rajul Tiwari
No matter what we create,
nothing is more beautiful than Truth...
For when it comes out of pen on Time's slate,
we become a creation, and our creation a booth...
The flowing lights from the sky,
the flower to flower hopping butterfly...
The music rendered by a hiding cuckoo,
the peacock's rain ballet in his ecstatic tutu...
Rainbows forming with sun-lit droplets,
the dancing waters wearing infinite anklets...
The dew as the perspiration of the fragrant night,
left as a mark of love on the face of dawn's light...
The Gold splashed and burning hot,
touches the earth and blows away her chilly knot...
The sun-set in the mysterious mountains,
among the crystal clear ponds and fountains...
The stars peeping and winking with naughty grace,
the moon seducing the enormous waves...
All what life makes, All what makes life,
The truth is always fertile, always ripe...
Each day, brings all this to us,
each day tries to drain all the pain and pus...
Each season, heals a previous wound,
each season brings something newly bloomed...
We inhale the messages, when we breathe,
we avail all which they breed...
A work of creation, does it all,
what is not possible from combined efforts of us all...
I bow to thee, if only we had the creative eye,
to read and understand what thou made...
This is what all the chants and holy-books cry,
even after reading them, we remain not what thou made...
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