The empty road is damp with fog
and the sky has shrunk to a narrow strip
framed by the concrete buildings, tall.
Overhead the round moon is glowing bright.
In dewy haze her silver light
is diffused across the pale, silent night.
The chill in the wind is lesser
than it was last night or the night before,
so the cold is slightly bearable.
The ectothermic city has retired
like a gigantic slug lying mired
in confusion through dewy haze transpired.
I am the only soul still out
traversing the empty road on bare feet
towards my destiny, unknown
with all the senses comfortably numb.
for the Brave Daughter of India, nicknamed ‘Amanat’…
The night is frozen from the shock and grief.
The droplets of mist on my windowpane
flowing down like teardrops of the muted wind.
As I try in vain to wipe them away
with shivering hands, in whispers I urge,
“O Wind, do not weep for she is not dead!
Do not weep for the earth you flow around
is too violent for her innocent soul.
When the world is teeming with men whose lust
makes a foul beast more human than us,
souls like hers away from the world must fly,
O Wind, do not weep for she cannot die!”
Another year is gone from life
and duly old we all have grown alright
but have we moved ahead? We do not know.
We are neither blind nor insane
and we can see through the lies of progress
we are told over and over again.
The diagrams and the average
of statistics are liars too, diffusing
the carnage of the affluent on the poor
and showing a growth overall.
Everywhere in this grey capital
everyday there are more beggars and
cars too than there were yesterday.
Everyone still managing to survive
somehow with no urge to justify
the months, weeks and days spent, so wantonly!
I miss the gentle summer wind on my face,
the glittering grains of sand at my feet
and the soft shadows of a grove, nearby.
I miss the mild smell of brine in the air,
the bright, joyous sun raining down on the sea
and the softness of her warmth beside me.
When the birds return to their empty nests
and the sun leaves the sky to the stars
far away and the grove comes alive
with crickets’ song and dancing fireflies,
when a soothing wind blows in from the sea,
I miss her soft whispers of love for me.
Though I have never been to such a place
and I have neither seen a face like hers,
it seems as if they meant some thing to me
to pine like this and miss them so dearly!
I wonder how, while walking up and down
the multi-storied lanes and avenues
littered in the complex maze of my thoughts,
being built and renovated everyday!
All I can think of is most probably
through a dream I dreamt many years ago
and before I woke up the memory
was lost to the subconscious world below.
No, Love, you cannot hurt me any more!
I have buried my heart and brain far below
the dead ground. Your words of indifference
can no more penetrate my skin, too dense
for ironies to sink, almost petrified.
No matter what, you can no longer make me cry!
Love, you cannot make me bleed any more!
I have drained all my veins too pale to flow
through the scars and wounds of so many years
with the stains of blood washed away in tears
and the pain has left me almost petrified.
No matter what, you can no longer bleed me dry!
No, Love, you can no more come in my dreams,
I have had too many nightmares already,
in my life! Your subtle ways and decadence
cannot reach the nerves through my bones,
hardened from years of grief, almost petrified.
No matter what, from haunting dreams I shall not die!