Olives And Doves* … 1412-12

We hold in our palms Many solutions to a quest Also in our hearts so close to our heaving breast Blinded we balance believe not what our eye sees A sword in hand ready to slash promising trees Feelings left untended sullied in much pointless jest Waiting for somehow to wrench from life its best Nonchalant to approach genuineness of an incoming crest Stand on some pedestal putting every word to a pointless test We bob and drift on the ebb and flow of waves Seek out our bliss in shallows of pointless raves No warmth in hands those that gingerly held with gloves We grow the olives those to sills are carried by doves All this and more fetching of the moon, its spree Life silently holds the plug and fates written decree. original 14th Dec,2k12 Islamabad