A Night at the Opera

The wooden woman of rhythm,

Breaths, moans, and screams

as her thinly tensed strings

shiver to a shower of stings

At every single touch

of his tender, slender fingers

I sit there and stare

at their musical flare

I've had a fair share

but should I ever compare?

I know how that feels

I know how he heals

I know that warmth

cozier than any hearth 

warming up the only path

leading to my lonely heart

yes, he's been a part

of life, light and every art

since the day I could imagine

the feeling of a love divine.

I could have never fathomed

the beauty of every ion and atom

But now I see how life begins

as he makes love to the strings.

-Uththara-

Sunset

The sun started walking down
slowly toward the horizon
to dip his toes a little, at first,
and then to quench the midday thirst
still lingering, drying his throat
his tongue, his body, his burning soul.
His toes touched the water below
and in that water, all his sorrows
were soaked into a pile of mellow,
morning kisses for another tomorrow.

-Uththara-