Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

for imparting new life


For imparting life to dead granules of soil; all I did was to inundate
its
surface with cool buckets of water,
For generating life in pallid patches of the dilapidated wall; all I
did was
slapped it with several coats of vivacious color,
For instilling life in broken lips; all I did was kiss them intensely
every
where over their chapped periphery,
For giving life to the sad girl philandering in corridors of gloom; all
I did
was danced like a clown; bringing a smile to the contours of her face,
For reviving life in the lackadaisical flower; all I did was commanded
the
clouds to shower droplets of exhilarating rain,
For bestowing life in the shattered web; all I did was leave a cluster
of
spider to weave their way through the same,
For reinvigorating life in a dreary pair of eyes; all I did was
vigorously
rubbed them with raw extracts of pungent turmeric,
For rejuvenating life in a scorched throat; all I did was tickle it
with
chilled champagne,
For reinstating life in a cluster of rotten vegetables; all I did was
place
them in the interiors of a swanky refrigerator,
For revitalizing life in the tired soles of feet; all I did was put
them on
the accelerator of a flamboyant racer car,
For stimulating life in a fractured hand; all I did was to bring it
near a
panthers jaw; fomenting the bones to automatically reshape themselves
at
electric speeds,
For offering life to the voice chords of a dumb man; all I did was
bring his
lost children in front of his eyes; triggering him to shout in ecstatic
euphoria,
For energizing life in a lazy camel; all I did was put him under the
blistering sun of the sandy desert,
For propelling life in the silhouette of a battered car; all I did was
flood
its belly with gallons of golden petrol,
For resurrecting life in visage of an orphan; all I did was held him
close to
my chest; in the comfort of my arms for times immemorial,
For fortifying life in the wrinkled skin of the abysmally old; all I
did was
recite to them nostalgic tales about their boisterous past,
For reanimating life in a ghastly bruise; all I did was to dress the
wounds
with the bond of my empathy,
For regenerating life in a dead man; all I did was blend my senses
wholesomely
with his soul,
And for imparting new life to a miserably devastated heart; all I did
was
fill
its cavities with the stream of my passionate love. 

Submitted: Saturday, August 16, 2014

Topic(s): poetry


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