The Harbinger
He meanders down the deserted streets
of the uncouth ruins of shattered language
looking for creative act,
nubile poetry,
celestial songs,
devoid of cultural pluralisation,
tarnished sensibilities,
receding waves of celebration....
looking for-
the harbinger of wonderful monument.
A warm tempest rises
and vanishes
covering the street with blazing sand
offering a torn envelope
addressed to him
mothering a blank letter,
moistened with salty waters
and,
he stands perplexed
at the moisture in desolate aridity,
at the miraculous ways of power.
He wades through the ablaze sallow sand.
Distant voices press upon his ears
ringing in his mind
enforcing him to go on
to discover the....
The scattered letters glistened
in the gloaming,
inviting him to fetch them up.
He runs and takes
V
O
E
L
in his hands
and he wonders at every probability of permutations.
Through the opaque airs
he descries an old fort
(perhaps)
with a magnificent glorified entrance.
The door,
locked up from outside
and a bunch of keys lying buried in the sand.
He gazes at them continually
and looks at me questioningly
but,
I had only injured answers to offer.
Copyright © Neeraj Kumar | Year Posted 2005
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