10. Tilting At Windmills

1. His attraction is absolute and total
His anger, a rarity, genuine and fatal,
His present state not obtained but prenatal,
An iron hand in a velvet glove, vital, yet brutal!

2) My days are spent in tortuous screams,
Nights, no better, battered by nightmarish dreams!
He stands apart, chirpy, with a face wreathed in beams,
I sit, full of labor's love, writing verses in reams!

3) I seemed to live a life, fit only to die!
No progress and meaningless as days went by,
Looked up at the sky and let out a pleading cry,
Then U.G. came in, said "Hi," and made me fly!

4) My daily work I perform with passion,
Dressed up, trendy and always in fashion,
A vacuum inside, tells me, I am falsified, take precaution!
Thus U.G. paradoxically showed me the blissful ocean!

5) I try and practice his presence in life's every sentence,
He is the only one who makes any sense in my existence,
I irritate him with my fragrance, shedding all pretence,
I wait with patience his grant of "the active living tense"

6) Words, arguments and unending queries lead nowhere,
In his silence, I glean verbs of virtue, unsaid and rare,
From his actions I draw lessons beyond any one's glare!
In all seasons and climes of life, he is my unfailing flare!

--Sreedhav, walking on air