Saturday, August 1, 2009

Scented Wetness

Ma sang a lore – a note when
I was young, tender and docile.
“When thou seek birds chirp
And birds bathe the grime –
It gives a sign, a tint, a sigil”
I mooted in impulse – ‘What?’
But the saga yet was untold.

She whispered none - she spoke not
All she did was turned to me,
looked and smiled her mellow heart out.

“Son! You so desolate – why?
The sign no bad, its holy, its pure
God’s grace shall be defined in it
Nature’s presence shall be felt in it”
Singing the hymn of nature, she looked
So calm, So noble.
Little me, “Tell Ma tell!” – spilled in anxiety
But still

She whispered none - she spoke not
All she did was turned to me,
looked and smiled her mellow heart out.

Stealthy and loving hands of her
Held my hands, closed my eyes
And walked me to the scented wetness
For it was the monsoon drizzle smelling.
Out from the land and
Out from Ma
The scented wetness I witnessed
Dancing to the rain I went gala.

But she whispered none - she spoke not
All she did was turned to me,
looked and smiled her mellow heart out.

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