THE PEBBLE

I lay to rest
A thousand maladies of an unceasing mind,
In the realms of night
Yet another one gone by.
In peace we sing then
As we float through the tunnel ,
Of a million tomorrows and their lights.
And everywhere these saints
Preachers with inky souls,
They ramble along our path,
What they ought to know
But we never heard of, Papa!

You give me in the grasp
A cold hard pebble,
Of nothing but what I lived till now.

Life and its idiosyncrasies,
Them, I clench in my fist
The ruthless joke of it all!
Yonder is the lake
Upon the silver face of which,
I saw the smile
Of a young girl ,
With the most beautiful eyes.

And beneath the waters Papa!
I see nothing but a myriad of dreams
Wept and rejoiced for,
Long back, now and that shall be.

I look at the pebble
Gleaming in its black shine,
And I look into your eyes
Nebulous in its gaze,
Little in its being.
As lurid as the thing in the crevices of my hand
Too small to hold, too big to give up.
They turn darker,
Big pupils of orderliness and kind,
As the little one swims in the joy of those rivers.

For one swift throw
Through ecstasies never felt,
The ripples breaking air
As they dance on the waters.
And so one life ends ,
Again in the lake of illusion.

And the dream wraps up itself
In the brown carton of monotony,
With a label called
Humble Harmony!




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