Poem: The Third Wish on a Sunday Morning

As poetry flows today in the form of wishes on this Sunday morning. Here is the third and final wish. Nothing more.

Poem: THE THIRD WISH ON A SUNDAY MORNING

Playing the flute to a flowing stream
Soaking in the sights and sounds
The sound of creation to the drum of heartbeats

Words born random and strung into a garland
Verses born, lyrical meaning to music
Chapters like climbers intertwined with trees

To the lone wolf that cries to the moon
To the nightingale that sings into the tune
A perfect symphony of metaphors

Harmony flows through the veins
Pumped into rhythmic free verse
A slight compression of the heart

That nudge needed for life and love
Exploding into the universe —
Sights, sounds, silence, and sighs

Words written, and the space in between
Like the matter and the emptiness
Complete each other — the Yin and the Yang

For I would never be complete
Without the existence of you.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

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