He says,speak of...
the yellow butterfly
and the freshly spotted purple;
the Golden Shower tree,
pregnant with a windy May;
the road that loses its feet to the mountain peak,
and that wretched shack with shocking momos;
the blackbirds that eavesdropped.
and the fog that hugged us that day.
He says,
speak of…
that song that rose from black & white
and brush-swept our willing faces;
the two children we stole from our family albums,
wore their faces and hopped all day;
that snake swimming in the lake
and that quiet walk by the highway.
He says,
speak of...
dreams and wishes and songs that came true
He says,
speak of...
the miracles - when you were me and I were you.
But then…
miracles are for keeping,
so utterly ahead of speaking.
IMAGE COURTESY: A painting by Bheem Malhotra, www.tribuneindia.com
Waah Balpreet
ReplyDeleteThat is it. You have hit the bull's eye this time. The words are chiseled and emotions filtered; I am really happy this time.
sunil
You know Sunil, I didn't realise I sounded morose!!!! Till my friend told me that I write only of sadness and that it all reeks of tragedy!!!! :)
ReplyDeleteSo I picked up some sunny days (and there are many!!) and wrote of them. But then it is always that simple. For me, both exercises are the same. Because at the core of both, lie faith and joy of life really. For me, what the reader is perceiving as sad and blue, is actually just a sharing of another state of mind. But at the core of me, is only joy and faith. :)