The Fragrance of Yesteryears

Rowing against the torrent of time,
Periods there were, of mystic charm,
When the sun was more than a 'ball of fire'.
Clad in the cloak of serenity,
Ravishing, she was;
yet carried not a vanity bag.
But for the eyes that cared to behold
The Beauty that dies not,
To the heart she charmed her way in.
There were days when nature bred wonder:
The sky that turned dark at night,
Garnished with the pale crescent and his friends,
After the sun has retired to his abode beneath the waves;
The roses that bloomed to feed the bees
Or to deck waves of hair;
The hues of the arc that someone painted
On a canvas of blue,
All enthralled me.
But years rode swift stallions,
Answering the queries of innocence,
With precision that cuts deep into
Minds that learned not to brood over beauty.
Mysteries have bidden adieu
And the beauty has waned.
All I have is a heart that longs
For those wondrous days
When nature was a mystery
And ignorance a charm,
For, a certain beauty veils the Unknown.

Rakesh Potty