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Saturday, April 07, 2007


each day..I knew it was going some new way..
I wondered if I could hold on time...I wondered if it could stay..
I somehow remember again today..
how a part of it I gave away..
the first gift..I dared to give..
the first wait..I chose to live..

painting a soiled canvas or dressing a scar,
admiring the petals of a crushed flower.
vulnerability of power
thirst that preceeds a long awaited shower
smile that mocks pain
helplessness that struggles in vain
folds in a crushed paper ...which can never be erased
the crisp originality of first dreams..that reality never brazed..
the first cautious step ...the insecurity in confidence,
the excitement to begin walking...the weakened self defence
in the expanse of my collect and hold tight..
my most precious wrong and right..
a million words , carefully chosen
a dried leaf ...of that winter season
my sketches in time,
my first nursery rhyme,
my notes on life...dated long back,
my dreams , my beliefs...from that sacred stack..
my sea-shells bedtime stories and tales,
my coloring collection of old cards and mails.
the pitter patter of a someday rain ,
the rhythm of a faraway passing train
steps carved out in wet soil,
"wrapped"... a part of me in a silver foil...
I dedicated all this...I put it in a little basket ...
to the flow of the stream i then gave treasured casket..
no assurance, no confirmation
but I still wait sheer anticipation..
an isolated untarnished optimism demands of me..
to trust that in the turbulent waters...a reflection of myself I shall someday see..
I wonder if it even remembers or thinks..
as deeper each hope and my casket sinks..
I do not seek a forced retrieval..
I do not want a deliberate recital
But someday..I want it back..untouched preserved
my submission of self...that the waters never deserved...

1 comment:

VISHAL said...

I know not what the poem speaks
But it do reminds me of the passing streaks
About the days that passed, the days to come
Whether I was in sorrow or I played with fun.