That sunny breakfast nook
Where the bibliophile me, sat reading a book.
The small warmth of a fire
On bone chilling cold days
And those youthful ditties.
Ah time, so unkind, capricious too
As life’s cruel pantomime
Somewhere a lapwing utters a plaintive note
A girl hums away dolefully on a wobbly boat
Next to a deodar tree with an inquisitorial appearance
Ah, that lovely, haunting fragrance!
The trance, the romance!
The misty, magical swirl
As the playful pine –scented breeze
Played with a wayward curl.
Ah time’s sorcery!
But the pilgrim ploughs on the rocky terrain
Clinging to a ghost of a hope
Unfazed by the tattered sole
Yearning, once again to be whole.
Sometimes crawling like a haggard dream
And then bursting forth like a throttled scream.
Groping the way along
On cracked lips, an unsung song.
Undeterred by clouds resounding with volcanic wrath
Like ogres baleful
Like mastodons of the primeval world.
The yesterdays merge into todays
The pilgrim no longer in a daze, emerges from the maze.
Blowing away that soupcon of regret
Rising above the cacophonous throng
Once again hums that soulful song.