Untold memories of life dwidle
and remains alone as friend the soul;
But of the childhood the times are fresh always,
and as sweet as life for ever live those days.
Welkin Siskin
Poetry
Is poetry but an oyster?
For on the shore of songs they roister
When the waves of the main carried touch
Less its pack but hits hard to fetch
the point of it and latch
In a net of pearls and food.
Is poetry but an oyster?
For it comes up in seasons moister
And costly it becomes as edibles
You uncover its mystery or you know not at all.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
Delight
On the lawn and the lee,
Feel the life as a game what ever it be.
On the south and the north,
Feel life good from the birth.
Rejoice life and be part of peers
Befriend with folks and have cheers.
Delighting is fun
Until the days are done.
Play the bass of life
Until feelings go rife.
Attune with all good
To attain all fruit.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
Waterfall
Waterfalls glide from the North
Down the snow-covered mountaintop
And on that inviting beauty of the Earth
Nesting on the Alpine trees, a flock of birds chirp
In tuneful songs
Across the pacific valley
And there I always wish to be
taking in pride in the glorious affinity
With those never-ending songs of the solitary delight.
Copyright:Welkin Siskin
Stroller Story
Despite us getting lost in the shadows
somewhere,
And despite we come closer to dark,
We are voyager, stroller and goer
With psalms of lifetime and songs of lark.
Despite we lose in the main of darkness,
We extend our wings of life to reach the furthest,
And further the road, the human spirit goes
To give substance to the work he does and defines his life.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
All Man
All man is though the orb of night,
In the thicket of time he loses sight;
All man a placid, cloudless wind
A continence’s smirk and grin.
All man must however smooch callous death,
That’s the tale, that’s man’s fate.
With cranky face and rolling tear,
Lost things hurt us as anything severe.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
Singsonging Life
Man sings through the heart
For man a singsong bird,
Singing day in and day out,
No whisper, ho hiss, no mumble but loud,
Songs of freedom and the songs of everyday,
From teenage impatient to childhood game on hay,
Singing merrily all the sorrow and delight
Singing all the good of a brighter side,
Singing all the rhymes and rhythm,
Singing of man’s portion and crumb,
Singing sweetness and singing bitterness.
Life is like this for all, guess.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
Love Song (lyrics)
Nestle in love
And always in love rove
Far and wide in wandering
Always deeply, pensively singing
Love as the trust gift of Lord;
And far in the sky to dart
And deep in the sadness to sing
The heart and the soul link
Together as one soul
With one, single goal:
To live but for all time,
To create but placid clime.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
Fall
Leaflets grow
And thus has come Fall
Befalling unto us,
Blessing us
Bestowing upon us
The rustling sound of music.
Copyright:Welkin Siskin
Age and Time
I reimagined life, the day before yesterday,
though the eyes of a child
And found it blissful.
I recalled playing with streaks of color, a tiny bag sewed of clothings
to put marbles, swimming in ponds and rivers, a kind of an unending
Walk into the crop fields and forests, playgrounds and yards;
I never had to walk for an Adidas,
Neither Puma nor Seahawks.
Life, then, was nothing but a Cherub’s one: pure in form, lost in the world of bliss, an honestly open, guileless life.
I reimagined life, yesterday,
through the eyes of a teenager
And found it exciting.
I recalled impatience approached as a state between the dark and the bright.
Sometimes, life set into tune the musicality of fun,
Sometimes, overwhelmed by passion life flowed over the edge of etiquettes, societal wants and morale.
I reimagined life, now,
this youthful age
And find it merely a struggle for existence.
Toppled over by everyday job,
Life finds it hard to get over with it’s challenges, the simplest of dreams unfulfilled at the mere need for a living,
the loss of an eye’s unbounded quest.
And thus, I hear, through the eyes of an octogenarian the cycle
Goes bottom to top,
For life, perhaps, wishes a life once more to prevail.
Copyright: Welkin Siskin
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