How do I not believe in That?
It was my 33rd birthday, an expensive one for my wife; she gifted me an iPod.
How well she cared to know my love for music; never would I have bought one for myself.
I kept gazing at the device in awe; touched it, felt it; it was something so sensuous.
I wondered how much its creator must have put his love and life into it to get this for us.
So much it is easy to be captivated by a pretty lady, but not often to a sleek gadget as such.
Often on my early morning amble by the lake, I lose pace and helplessly switch my gaze.
How do I miss the sight of the grass so thin; but bear the weight of the early morning dew?
It makes me laugh to see the cobweb as it lay exposed to its predators by the hanging dew.
And even more the dewbows give the appearance of booty left behind after the nightlong loot.
Who is That, who does it all; knows what all delights me and creates such an awestruck morning view?
In my deepest hour of despair, I corner myself to a place that gives me a feel of absolute solitude.
I wait till the darkest hour of the night till I can no longer see any bodily part of myself.
But I still feel the heaviness of the heart; I couldn’t leave it behind, it’s carried even in the dark.
Up through the roof, I see a shining star as if watching me; and not leaving me alone in my present state.
Who is That, who does it all; knows when I am broken at heart; sends a star to befriend me when I’m alone?
What’s there in an innocent smile; it can instantly douse an attackers rage of fury?
What makes the heart go numb at the sight of a girl with her blue eyes hidden by her tendrils?
What so lethal in that smile; biting her lips that colors my imagination with some never to be known answers?
Could have Vinci known? Monalisa with her half smile will craze its onlookers for over five centuries.
How do I not believe in That something? Who knows what all I love and all that spurts the joy out of me.
Why I am left thoughtless and feel myself lost at the mere sight of a snow-clad mountain?
What makes me stop and gaze at the blooming flowers even in my busiest hours as I pass by it?
What makes me skip my sleep as I sit beside the spring and hear it burble as it trickles down the hill on a moonlit night?
What makes me roll over the landscape that is coated with color so green and clean natural meadows?
Who That is and always on his job, to constantly bless me with all that I would so much love?
Why I have to look at the young leaf and feel the joy when it is colored by the first ray of the morning light?
Why is the dead silence, right after the deafening bustling sound of the woods so tranquil?
Why the streak of patterns made on the sky far outweighs any of the strokes by a master painter?
Why the petrichor had to smell so good; never would have known had it not rained after a long spell of drought?
Why do we wait to see the sunrise that shows up at the South Pole but once in 6 months?
What makes the child giggle as it breaks the dead mournful silence; it charges me to live life again?
What makes me fall in love with her; so strongly feel each other but without uttering a single word?
Why the flower has to bloom but fall off by the noon; it redeems us from the monotony of life?
Seems someone is constantly on his job to lift our spirit when we feel so low and in a melancholy.
Is he our creator; how well he knows what all the love in us loves to love?
How well she cared to know my love for music; never would I have bought one for myself.
I kept gazing at the device in awe; touched it, felt it; it was something so sensuous.
I wondered how much its creator must have put his love and life into it to get this for us.
So much it is easy to be captivated by a pretty lady, but not often to a sleek gadget as such.
Often on my early morning amble by the lake, I lose pace and helplessly switch my gaze.
How do I miss the sight of the grass so thin; but bear the weight of the early morning dew?
It makes me laugh to see the cobweb as it lay exposed to its predators by the hanging dew.
And even more the dewbows give the appearance of booty left behind after the nightlong loot.
Who is That, who does it all; knows what all delights me and creates such an awestruck morning view?
In my deepest hour of despair, I corner myself to a place that gives me a feel of absolute solitude.
I wait till the darkest hour of the night till I can no longer see any bodily part of myself.
But I still feel the heaviness of the heart; I couldn’t leave it behind, it’s carried even in the dark.
Up through the roof, I see a shining star as if watching me; and not leaving me alone in my present state.
Who is That, who does it all; knows when I am broken at heart; sends a star to befriend me when I’m alone?
What’s there in an innocent smile; it can instantly douse an attackers rage of fury?
What makes the heart go numb at the sight of a girl with her blue eyes hidden by her tendrils?
What so lethal in that smile; biting her lips that colors my imagination with some never to be known answers?
Could have Vinci known? Monalisa with her half smile will craze its onlookers for over five centuries.
How do I not believe in That something? Who knows what all I love and all that spurts the joy out of me.
Why I am left thoughtless and feel myself lost at the mere sight of a snow-clad mountain?
What makes me stop and gaze at the blooming flowers even in my busiest hours as I pass by it?
What makes me skip my sleep as I sit beside the spring and hear it burble as it trickles down the hill on a moonlit night?
What makes me roll over the landscape that is coated with color so green and clean natural meadows?
Who That is and always on his job, to constantly bless me with all that I would so much love?
Why I have to look at the young leaf and feel the joy when it is colored by the first ray of the morning light?
Why is the dead silence, right after the deafening bustling sound of the woods so tranquil?
Why the streak of patterns made on the sky far outweighs any of the strokes by a master painter?
Why the petrichor had to smell so good; never would have known had it not rained after a long spell of drought?
Why do we wait to see the sunrise that shows up at the South Pole but once in 6 months?
What makes the child giggle as it breaks the dead mournful silence; it charges me to live life again?
What makes me fall in love with her; so strongly feel each other but without uttering a single word?
Why the flower has to bloom but fall off by the noon; it redeems us from the monotony of life?
Seems someone is constantly on his job to lift our spirit when we feel so low and in a melancholy.
Is he our creator; how well he knows what all the love in us loves to love?
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