I am very sad
as if death has occurred,
no, rather more than that.
I am to see,
feel it, dip by dip,
the grace of life
and life of grace
was slipped out of my hands.
The shoulders I used to rest,
when lost in unknown lanes,
when recovered,
When achieved,
or when failed-
they had an unique power
of reconcilement and sharing,
like deep spiritual words,
a compatibility for mutuality.
The attainable heights,
the pure oxygen
the clean river,
the temple of gold,
left. Me-
a well nurtured goat,
to be slaughtered.
My platform is destroyed.
They say, as it was illegal.
My palace of peace
no more it exits.
Still I go and watch it.
The wind from that side
sounds, touches familiarity,
but it gives
tears and tears only.
The endless,
drop by drop.
Useless as drought
does not accept them-
they are salty.
Once in such
a state of sadness-
I found myself writing
on his bare back.
A legend yet trues.
No one could read it
and I had to obliterate.
I tried but every time
back was more scratched
and I could not erase.
It is as fresh as,
the mango tree,
Some whispered my ears,
He has been seen the other side
of the horizon,
I felt,
running and running.