Little hills,
A verdant small valley,
And a curvaceous beauty,--
A stream rippling across the stones,
Its unchained notes singing a song
for the tired traveller who stops by it,
Its divine fluidity melting
the stony pain in his heart,
Its free will flowing joyfully,
setting him free from the
prison of fears, worries and tension.
A gloomy grey dawn with shades deep,
All silence except the lonely katydid
who still kept its hopes alive for a mate
through its unhurried breep breep.
The sky hung spent,
Looking forlorn with languorous bent,
Discharmed after overexerting itself in
breaking September rain record,
The earth below soaked full
and lay sleepy like an overfed bull.
No rockchats for their pre-dawn birdy chatter,
Things are always supposed to be better,
Then the faint traces of a new day
filtered across the clouds with a new ray.
A handsome oriental magpie Robin
took over the chorus from the tired katydid
and the dandy black and white bird's
teasing, naughty chitter broke the ice.
Instantly a couple of peacocks gave gruffy hoots,
A crow cawed,
A dove sent its docile notes,
A white wagtail chipped in,
A few sparrows gossiped across the branches.
The morning chorus singers
increased in number and variety,
It's the birds who announce
a new day most beautifully,
Listen to their announcement,
They always seem wishing you
the best of a morning!
I'm a common man with modest means,
and common people have to be
conscious of their deeds
that may justify
their philanthropic conscience.
They have their limitations
and need to look for small avenues
to satisfy the good spirit.
I am no exception,
I collect my tiny grains of good deeds,--
A potted rose feeling extremely thirsty,
its buds and top leaves drooping despiritedly,
I pour water with care and consideration,
Within fifteen minutes I see the results,
The branches straighten and leaves turn taut,
the buds raise their heads again,
They will smile fully tomorrow.
Now who says that
good deeds don't fetch beautiful results?
A richly yellow, thick, grand old
guava leaf lets go of its grip
on the branch and tumbles down
to create a soft tonk on the car's roof.
The completion of a journey!
Well, I believe some stately wise old man
also died peacefully in sleep,
after completing a joyful, meaningful life,
in some corner of the world
at exactly the same time.
The day
holding its last ray,
The dusk
at its mellifluous cusp,
The breeze stops
to welcome dew drops,
To the nest
birds return for rest,
The leech
also has to reach
a place safe,
To crawl
cling and brawl
on a new day.
Embraced by the pining silence
and stillness of these mute hours,
my detached self grows more detached
and aloof like those misty distances
virginally spread out under the star light.
Thus, the lone pine
felt absolutely fine.
I carried the load of victory
and the next time
when I lined up for the run
I lagged behind like a burdened beast.
I carried the baggage of defeat
and perspiring under the load sat down,
gasping for breath,
and could just manage to see
others lining up for the run.
