Poems By Arjava

A HUNDRED forms would pass the languid eye

Each one its proper load of hue would bear.

Singly the world-changing instant sauntered by,

Was Richard's hair.

Thousands of glances throng my sight in vain,

Holding such harvest as an un reaped book :

I see now hence a sapphire with no stain

In Richard's look.

Idly the singing sands of life I heard ;

Not they could make the selfless self rejoice.

A flawless promise of new heaven stirred

In Richard's voice.