Miracle Maker

I plunge and dissolve
Into the river,
Of doleful dreams and
Find you there, clutching
My hand tight in yours.

You call out my name,
You say, Now arise!
Let’s go, hunt down Hope!
In hearts time forgot,
In loves we had lost.

I laugh, I whimper
I mock you, jaded,
Things I held sacred,
Now tossed away, strewn
By the winds of change.

You gather my groans,
A fistful of fears,
A vagrant longing,
Bottled in your jar
With your sanguine smile.

And weave a wonder,
A true miracle,
Born of all the things
Forgotten and lost,
Life breathed into them.

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Anne Adarsh

Anne Adarsh is a radiologist by profession but finds herself repeatedly returning to her first love in all things. Poetry. A self-confessed Recluse also blessed (or cursed perhaps!), with an insatiable curiosity to learn new things, writing to her, means a landscape in her mind's eye, to which she can always escape to, whenever life closes in on her.