A skiff.

A skiff.

Update –> I think ” A Kiss of Love – A Resurrection” can be a better title for this poem. 

Stroking the paddles,
the skiff was rowing mid-stream,
I could see nothing but knolls and cliffs.
The river taking sharp turns,
grappling with gravels, and bergs,
making way like the potentate and imperious.
It’s flow is transcendental,
more promising than oxytocin,
more ravishing than a nymphet.
I revel at the sight of a loud sun.
Piercing the mountains to reach the skiff,
rays, traveling billions of miles,
originated inhumanly,
are in my body now.
Lost, a layman in vast ocean;
Absorbed, beings on earth;
Subservient, an androgynous to spirituality;
Never come out of me,
to remain inside me.

But if they could pierce my bark,
my skin, my tissues, my minuscule billion cells,
my tissues, my skin, and my bark again,
to come out an implacable and indestructible winner,
vainglorious of its creation and existence.

I, still stroking the paddles,
enter the afterlife,
for nothing can kill my dreams and imagination.

Invisible, I still revel in the beauty of adjoining canyons,
and the cool breeze innate to the pompous river.
A lark follows my skiff,
as I, who is invisible,
fall off the marvellous heights, alongside the skiff,
into the depths,
with same vegetation, animals, and cliffs at the bottom,
with eyes open, and heart thumping,
to reach the depths no more,
to live an invisible life,
with no meaning
but to revel in pleasure
at the sight of men and women,
at the sight of dog and cat.

How do you feel about this?