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.