There is an unheard cry of birth...
Cry of a bud that wanted to bloom into a flower...
A leaf smiling in the sunshine...
With its least moisterous eyes...
And a creeper peeping out to the sky...
Thirsting for a rain...
Can you hear the whispers of our land now?
The soil is translating the monologues of the souls buried inside...
A drought is about to break its shell and scatter around
Its dry chirping all over the sleeping riverside...
We are near the gateway to a graveyard...
Where rainless clouds arch a prison of darkness...
The mountains lay as silent as saints in communication with God...
Even nothingness is on its deathbed to eternity...
Its drought out here...
SOYA V. N.
let me guesss!! did u write this during one of our 'out of syllabus' exams...???:D btw shudn't the last line be "drought OUT here"?
ReplyDeleteThank you Sulfia. That was a mistake from my part while typing. Thank you once again for pointing it out. I have changed it.
ReplyDeleteKeep writing, Soya. "Everybody loves a good drought."
ReplyDeleteThank u so much..sir..but i didn't read dt buk yet.i ws rfrng to d actual drought in which we are now...
ReplyDeleteI was not thinking of the book there, but sharing the anxiety in the poem. "Rainless clouds arch a prison of darkness". There is so much of poetry there.
ReplyDeleteer ! hmmm ! from the comments and explanations,i guess what she meant,she said outright..for a minute i thought it was something else!
ReplyDeletecheerio!