In defense of the waning sun

they wrote songs 

no one heard 

they danced alone 

on midnights

mid- mornings

they drank

they drank to the failings, the commotion

in defense of the waning sun

the fading moon

the crumbling earth

—

Anant Dhavale 

Abode

 Rains have touched

Your pure skin 

Winds have flown through your 

Hair 

Earth has lingered in your 

Being 

Your bosom, the 

Resting abode of this 

World.

-

Anant Dhavale

Be.

What’s found now was found then

Never was a time 

That didn’t be.

My now angst was my angst then

As we walked the dust laden roads 

In the sweet mist 

Amid the clamor of feigned truths

And how we walked 

We walked to be.

Farms of gold and green

Mourning the mirth, the fire

The silver of days 

Eyes never shone so brittle

Never was sadness that didn’t be 

Never farther 

Closer than be.

And you held it all together 

Like it meant to be.

—

Anant Dhavale

Ellorine

Parted lips 

and closed eyes; she resembles 

an ellorine sculpture 

ever so serene; it

appears as if 

she is lost 

in some land unknown 

though so close 

One could almost hear her breathe 

Curls float along her neck 

the slow western breeze 

adds

for the color 

to this perfect moment; this 

magnificence 

in this ever-so-imperfect world.

--

Anant Dhavale

© Anant Dhavale 

(I have used the word Ellorine to allude to the incredible Ellora caves) 

Abode

Rains have touched

Your pure skin 

Winds have flown through your 

Hair 

Earth has lingered in your 

Being 

Your bosom, the 

Resting abode of this 

World

-  Anant Dhavale

Stirrings

I do not wish to 

stir this 

calm of yours

dear bird 

I will admire your beauty 

from a distance.

--

Anant Dhavale