High Roads

a poem by Christuraj Alex

I remember that day, my friend when you said: I will lead,
I left my leadership as a tree untimely leaves shed;
I was happy indeed, just like holding my father’s arm,
What’s more happiness than that of knowing there is no harm?
Such was my true existence, as fine a fluent folklore,
None gains it; none loses; everyone is in highest soar!

You might remember that day when you needed assistance,
And me rushing to your home as haste as an ambulance!
You sent me with tyrants, who I never knew in my life,
My friend, are you in some mythical realm of fluting fife?
When you commanded me to kick, I did not know what to do,
In severest of wars, crooked techniques, we never knew!

When you turned a battalion against me, I simply thought:
My friend is a warrior; he’s learning some tricks for his art!
Where did this high-headedness come from, I do not know, yet,
Like the beautiful stories of the fights old ever said;
Where did they start? Where did they end? All seem mysteries;
Yet, such is, today, of all great glamorous stories!

I know, like cattle, I worked plowing sowing,
Putting manure, irrigating, and caring for the plants;
As a potter molding the mud and making new,
Or as a builder raising structures brick by brick;
You are ready to harvest; as though the owner,
Unthinking what role at all you had in the labor!

I do not regret yet; I go on delightfully, rather,
Just with the sheer joy of your internal genuine pleasure;
Does the scaffolding feel pained to be redone?
Doesn’t it, rather, feel happy at the construction?
Does it not lie patiently until that day dawns,
When does it meet with the luck of being used for other plans?
The building may smile and laugh and say,
It’s on its own it stood up as a high scraper of the sky!
The crops might not remember the laborers,
Nor the pitcher might its potter, yet the truth remains!