Shipping (per book) : 50
Genre : Poetry
TARGET AUDIENCE: Teenagers, Adults
Pages : 110
'Vivid Verses' is a collection of various human emotions that have been arranged in the form of verses. The poems deal with a wide array of topics - you may find yourself listening to a lover's plea on one page, while the very next leaf may startle you with a depiction of (in)human indifference. From the sunny days of friendship to the troubling state of affairs of the modern era; from the chilly frost of ignorance to the zesty Spring of opportunity - it's an experience which you will love. Grab a cup of coffee, and these rhymes in ink, and watch the lights of serenity pop up around you.
But what would keep thee happy? - what would,
Augment the verity of that untangling curve?
I see thy smiling face, like an artist's carving in wood,
The eyes, opaque mirrors, the corners, lacking preserve.
What Winter had descended, or was it a Spring,
That turned Autumn are the blossoms could bloom?
A lyre that wouldn't play, a lark that wouldn't sing,
Melodies - or a candle, extinguished in the face of gloom?
For oft I have brooded upon thy hidden smile,
The missing sun, on the canvas of thy countenance,
My breaths, strangers to thy roads - many a mile,
Yet uncovered - yet I wish to know the mischance.
For 'tis important to have a heart, greater still, to feel,
But 'tis the greatest to protect from harm, if not to heal.
For what would qualify a beloved? Merely an enchanting look,
Would not suffice to be the suitor of this love-shorn soul,
But when beauty husbands poise and befriend the book,
Two hearts beat in tandem, and the canvas is painted whole.
Nay, I wouldn't be fair to call it Love - for the modern Icarus,
Has had his flight of wax burnt by his own overzealous attempt,
And many a dreamt Siren has alluded the foolish lad to rush,
And run aground his ship on a rocky Love - a malicious tempt.
Shall I rush like the west wind, uninhibited? - but then I risk,
Shearing off the Spring's blossoms, before they turn yellow,
Or shall I be tardy, like the delayed rains? - but lacking in brisk,
Might seize the legs of ardour, while the clocks strike mellow.
But have I not been beguiled? My faculties, formerly ensnared,
By the burnished sheen of Cupid's bow - a flawed aim,
How then shall I believe that this arrow, so firmly aired,
Would be unambiguous in the target, not rebound and maim?
Love, dear Love, is a miraculous thing indeed - but be warned,
One flawed step can lead to the cold Winters you scorned.
My banks look rasped and worn,
Evidence of my perennial toil,
Which the rock has failed to foil,
The gentle leaf, though, not torn.
Since an age this current has flown,
And perhaps forever shall it go,
Saw all that Life had to throw,
Yet curious for the morrow not known.
Through newer pastures, I do wend,
My luggage, fragrance of sights past,
Beauty is but ethereal unless glassed,
A new sapling blooms on every bend.
Rushing past snow, on a gentle slope,
A slow meander through a grassland,
What play is hidden in Fate's hand?
A fall? A rapid? Not the sea, I hope.
For I have miles yet to roll and flow,
Stories to babble, ripples to leave,
Paint's wet, the canvas left to weave,
Hence, I continue to glide and go.
About the Author:
Md. Wamique Izhar, currently a resident of Kolkata, is pursuing his Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery degree from IPGME&R and SSKM Hospital, Kolkata. He has always been interested in literature and creative writing, the passion continuing even after entering the busy hallways of medical school. Apart from English, he is in love with Urdu, and spends his leisure time reading up and understanding Urdu ghazals and poetry, as well as listening to them. He is currently the Co-Head of Content Writing at Tales to Tell, a virtual writing platform. He loves football, as well as acquiring knowledge about random topics from the Internet - with interests ranging from the history of ancient England, to Artificial Intelligence.