Lost my oar
In the middle of Wular, lost rudder
Ripple of love forcibly dragged me down,
The skilled plank heavy swimmed across the lake
Like a corpse without core above the Blue.
Who took rudder riding on horses two?
Leaving this mundane mass at the mercy
Of half dream, to wonder in 'ether' high,
Where every vessel draws on by the wind
Tied on finger tip of prophet Noah.
Wave , melodious whirlpool submerged me
In my own flood, I lost my ark handmade
But Wular a drop reduced like being
Till a song sweet amidst thousand notes sang
The song , so much pure, the rudder appeared
But with a golden hand and airth arms long.
Skelton of hundred two and seven bones
Has from my birth , before a source serene
Met my source but only after losing,
How great is loss! How vital is to lose ,
Losing is to board , leads to the Ganges
Where sin sinks silently, emerges a saint
Leading the race to bay without rudder.
Copyright © Mushtaque Barq | Year Posted 2017