O1.
Time on a Different Plane
Almost exactly at
the moment when I thought
of the sentence
that poets have a
different time-zone
my wrist-watch
stopped showing the correct time
and began to run
erratically.
Though I could
attribute it all rationally
to faulty
mechanism
an eerie feeling
did creep in.
Since then I have
been travelling along
a different plane.
The time-zone, different
plane –
are these actual
terrains
or mere fantasies
of the brain?
Once again
I look at my watch
wondering whether
it was Borges’ Aleph
or just a ‘whiff
of breath’….
Right – Left –
Right – Left
Turn About –
Guided and
misguided by Time
the march
continues topsy-turvy.
2.
Rain Readings
Raging heat seems
to have
ascended the
throne
once again.
Having no power to
bargain
with the
conspiring
elemental forces
this day wades
along
an arid terrain
through horrid
hours,
saving itself from
swooning
aided by the
fountain
inside the brain.
Is the Rain
waiting for
an opportune
moment
to shower its
blessing
or stays away with
intent –
to keep me
guessing…?
Oh, why so?
Why not Come, See
and Go
without turning
into something
‘Long Long Ago…’?
To and fro
oscillates the
pendulum
The micro-monitor
screen
stays mum….
Yet a few more
hours
or the day’s
farewell…
With tolling bells
the yearning for
Rain
swells…
Caught in a
quagmire,
hope tends to wane
so the heart keeps
bemoaning,
woebegone,
with eternal
thirst for Rain
ingrained….
Half-cup full;
half remains empty
–
In between these
two refrains
Life hangs
Humpty – Dumpty….
Though appalled,
I quickly take
refuge
in the weather
forecast,
[Far more reliable
these days,
at last!]
that there would
be rainfall
without fail….
3.
Losing the essence
Indeed a very pathetic sight it is –
Seeing the
butterfly without wings…
and struggling to
fly;
to soar high…
The strenuous
effort
taking away the
sheen of its hues,
left high and dry
so softly it cries
the sound of which
escapes even those nearby.
Standing away and
witnessing its plights
I merely
sympathize,
sporting even a
bemused smile.
But,
metamorphosing into that very insect
I turn bruised to
the core;
could barely
breathe….
Has it lost its
heavenly wings _
Oh, when and
where….?
Or, were they
always
a mere semblance?
‘Better to have
had it and lost it
than to have never
had it at all’
They say…
Perceptions do
change
on the brink of
collateral damage…
Growing in age
is no gateway to
heaven….
Wings intact
is what
constitutes
Paradise Perfect.
