The Squirrel
Like dust clinging to mountains,
like drops clinging to the ocean,
Like Sun clinging to the sky
and the sky,though we don't know
must be clinging to something or someone,
So also I ,though not aware always
still feel at times,falling from the sky
without someone's support benign.
How sometimes
the squeeze of a spine chilling anaconda
crushes my trunk in to pulp
in nightmares!But to my surprise
I find as I awake,a garland of jasmine
round my neck teasing my senses
overwhelmingly fine!
Does anybody hidden
in these moments of wounded sleep
puts back into order
all the disturbed particles
in the magnet of my physique ?
Morning appears calm,tides returning,
Ticking comes clear from the clock.
I know,My cares and frustration
torture my timid being every time.
But those gentle 'to and fro' of fingers
of some softhearted warrior prince in peril
on my spine, keep soothing me all the time.
All the distances of light years
melt in to shining drops of tear.
All the frigidity of my cowardice
get warmth to run to and fro
with my body bearing grains of sand
sprinkled over it's furry hairs.
Collecting them from the sand bed I go,
scattering them on the bridge-getting-built
I return,for my Hero is to fight his foe
-the giant anaconda ,treading this bridge
within a few days to come.
Copyright © Sudarsan Mishro | Year Posted 2017
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