If I were ever a knife
I'd carve out my own life,
receive all the earth's spike
happily and lead a life I like.
If I were ever a poetry
I'd surely make an entry
even in the space,
for all my doubts, it'd erase.
If I were ever a bird,
wing in love and liberty,
I would soak all the anxiety
of those exploited in society.
If I were ever a book
if one might take a look
one would live life to the lees
cater knowledge, receive bliss.
If I were ever a tomorrow
present would bring no sorrow,
I could change the past;
have no fear of being last.
If I were ever a tree
I would give life to thee
have chance to become manure
I could give you chary cure.
Stretching your body for the whole day
and the arms to steady the motion:
You are for us the rickshaw-wallah
carrying others with or without emotion.
Life is never peaceful around you
you are carrying not only the passengers
but the noise of the life upon you
inside your sweated ears.
With every paddle that you make
fulfills the responsibilities that you take.
But does it unsettle your mind?
Have you got the peace that you find?
In the broad daylight you unfold the darkness
and paddling with your strength to give life calmness.
Does you ever feel anguish
leaving far behind love and unfulfilled wish?
Does your own shadow consume your soul?
And make every fair a foul?
Let us follow his will power to fight to survive
for spring will come to quicken the root to revive.
BIRDS AT SUNSET
It is a common scenario for all:
it is not a peculiar incident to explain
explicate, contradict or even discuss,
just a moment, to capture how
birds are flying towards their nest
at the sunset.
In which way will they fly
across the ocean, meadows and beyond the mountain?
Knowing that I will not get any reply
I watch only how much happiness will they contain?
The reflection of the setting sun drops on their feature
and it is a scene not to watch only but to gain pleasure.
They are flying in groups guarding their children
for they are sharing a common bonding
But have we become Nature's children?
Or have learned the habit of sharing?
One day the birds will not be seen in the sky
for among the clouds they will fly high
One day I will become motionless and be dead
And my wish to narrate this view will remain unsaid.