Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, I won't be dead till you know I am alive. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Baby let the ice weep.

What shall it take,
To write a poem,
That melts the core of ice
Deep down in the womb of Antarctic sheet,
Waiting yet not asking,
For the warmth of my pen,
The shards my jabs and my key strokes,
I don't want a Pulitzer,
I don't want a Pushcart,
I just want to melt a long frozen heart,
That once used to gurgle
With the brooks long lost babble,
With the speech that was a child's voice,
A softness that had my child's hush,
What shall it take?
A prose cannot thaw what an earthquake cannot expose,
A poem is the only instrument,
If alas she read,
No even if not read,
She felt,
No even if not felt,
She slept,
Covered her svelte self with,
Every night,
She went to sleep,
Closed her eyes,
And the ice would perhaps weep.

Submitted: Saturday, March 23, 2013

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