Monday, March 17, 2014

|| just like the gurgling babies ||

just like my youth
my luck has gone
like some cheerful breeze of air

just like the monsoon rains
emerging from the ocean
in a sudden sweep of the storm

that does not listen to the tinkling sounds
of the mountain,
like the pebbles the river carries or
pares without pause into exquisite pieces

just like a block of stone
in the soft and tender hands of an infant,
given, in a playful dream, to smoothen out
as if they are capable of molding it
into the shape of the grip of their hands

just like an infant in a swinging crib
would let out a joyful gurgling cry
thrilled with rapture as anyone would.

(Painting : Mugur Popa)

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