A Robot Poem by kunjubi varghese

Will the thirst in the heart be quenched,

By merely looking into each other’s eyes?

Is it possible to suppress all the longing

Of the youth, and contain them

Only in the hungry looks, which are exchanged?


What is the use of the pollen in a flower,

If the butterflies and the flower remain aloof?

Why is the honey kept in the flower,

If it is not around with its proboscis?

Life is the branch of a tree, where

Small dreams roost to rest in the night.

You came in my life like the soft ripples

Of a brook, silently but with quaint whispers

And smile, and a song cheerfully;

Caressed the scorching shores of my dreams,

Moistened it with your life and embraced it;

Inebriated like an earthen pot drenched

With the wine of your passion, kept inside;

Gave me handful flowers of dreams, but all

Made with papier-mâché, that could not

Share even a speck of pollen from it!

What ever I saw in the chariot of my dreams,

Were images made of clay and were not real,

But replicas like House of Wax idols.

My sweetest imaginations hovered around that figure.

Flattered, she drifted from me smiling treacherously.

I discerned that those sculptures lacked

The heart and soul and was a robot, then.