Can't close my hands round it

The costly, sprightly
image,
here an' there all along

Busying in cupping it
wholly whole,
‘in closing my hands round it'

There’s always that something;
everywhere ne’r, up there
Something, a thing/things ‘that my hands
can’t cup’

Yes! It’s there, of a shadowy-
formy-like, it’s there

Growing tiringly
with shadows,
shadows I can’t cup
in my hands

Are they there?
Yes, therely there!An ever flaming-
A bright, sprite glow in the West
A mere- rare ray of hope

The unending visions,
visions of welly well splashes-
of white waters,
of hope

Countless flights in dreams-
Dreams which one can'[t cup

Aired castles built up in yester years,
failing fiery to materialize

It’s there,
The vastly sprightly image-

Can’t close my hands round it.

Reviews

[writ rajat]

Very nice to see your poem,