He breathes no fire
But his eyes are aglow with it
His tread sounds not like thunder
But the earth trembles beneath it.
Yet the air is heavy with whispers
“The fire is dying”, a voice says
No, there is no dearth of rumours
“The King will be gone”, is the hearsay
A gaze at his majesty,
His grace and poise;
I realise instantly
As I look into his eyes,
“The fire is far from dying,
Ablaze, agleam and far from dying”.
1 comments:
I loved this one... It somewhat graces the tiger beautifully, and at the same time, leaves one hopeful that its fire will never die...
Good one!
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