The Beauty

It was a cold winter night as we sat under the beautiful full moon
Standing right above us in all heavenly beauty, the night Queen
I asked him what beauty is...

With a lush smile and his eyes staring into the deep dark heavens
The poet sang the poem "The Beauty"

A raging storm breeds nightmares, but who can question its authority
Ever witnessed the beauty of storm? Seek the Eye of The storm to witness it!

Mighty as they are called, Oceans spreading all across the blues of our day dreams
Loud and furious as they move holding each others hands as the waves
Plants the seeds of fear even in the hearts of a bold sailor
For who can think there is a peaceful and beautiful side of him
Ever explored the deep blues? Or let yourself slip into the womb of the Oceans?
What await one there is peace, calm and the beauty one can't comprehend!
 Blaze can consume the forests, can consume the lives is what they say
For what is a man but a fool with head full of questions, chasing things he already has
How can he ever see the beauty of Fire? Who set it up to consume things and people?
Like the King wearing royal robe stitched in Orange and Blue
Getting ready to conquer yet another kingdom, it walks with head held high
A perfect blend of the colors, who can stop admiring the beauty of fire?
Or the beauty of The King in Royal Robes!
Ever dreamt of the Woods? The silent echoes in the woods?
The songs they sing as they spring, raising their little ones
Away from the noisy world of ours, protected by mother nature
How lucky is one, to be embraced by the mother, to live in her womb forever
For my dreams are insane, my ears hear the echoes and the songs
Witness the beauty in the Mother's Womb!

Beauty as they say is not a calculated value
Not an output of an equation... Not a set of numbers
Nor can it be measured by the lusty eyes

Does it bother a mother if the baby born to her is dark or white?
Does it bother a lover if his girl doesn't meet the standards of beauty defined in the society?
Does the beauty of music fade if its produced by a black or a white man?
Does the beauty of a poem vanish with age? Or does it value go down because it was brewed in the East?

"Beauty, my friend, ships in all shapes, sizes and colors!"


As i get lost in his poems, trying to understand his words
He vanishes into the winds...
I wonder where he is going?
Probably to sing this poem elsewhere.... In your hearts!