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ON THE BROWNISH CARPET OF GARDEN
EYES VENTURED WEST-WARD,
AND TWO CHINARS; TALL AND STATELY
ALL SHIMMER AND GOLD,
THE MELLOW LEAVES BASKING
IN THE LUKE-WARMTH OF AUGUST SUN,
THE EYES LIT UP, AS PROUD AS THE SPECTATOR,
SUCH SPECTACULAR BACK-DROP,
SUCH GOLD AND PEACE, OF my HUMBLE DOMICILE.
THE LIT-UP EYES VIE WITH SKY,
INTENSIFYING THEIR HUE, BLINDING BLUE,
THE EYES ARE BLUE, THE SKY IS BLUE,
THE SKY IS CLEAR, THE EYES WITOUT a TEAR,
NO BLACK CLOUDS, NOT A WHIT OF FEAR.
SERENE AND SOFT,
VIEWER KEEPS ON VIEWING,
AND BULBULS ON SINGING,
AND BLUE EYES, BRIGHTENING,
BUT ALL OF A SUDDEN, THE GENTLE
RUSTLE OF LEAVES CEASES, CRYING
BUT WHY DO THEY CRY,
OUT OF PRESENTIMENT! ! ! ! ? ? ? ? ?
NO! ! IT'S THE cruel PREDICAMENT,
BLACK...ALL BLACK, THEY CRY
THE BLACK CLOUD HAS COME,
THEY CRY, EYES LOOK ON, AND DON'T VIE.
''ho khodaya, the blackest of black has come! ! ! ! ''
BUT FROM WHERE? ? ? ? FROM NOT ONLY SOUTH
BUT FROM WEST AS WELL,
THE THUNDERS ARE FURIOUS,
MILITANT AND BULLYING,
AND THE GENTLE AIR
IS INTOXICATED, COMMUNAL.
WAILS AND SHRIEKS FROM EVERYWHERE,
''HO KHODAYA...HATO KHUDAYAO''
IT HAILS TORRENTS OF BULLETS,
AND THE SHIMMERING GOLDEN LEAVES
FELL DOWN, INSTANTANEOUSLY,
ALL THE PEACE IS BURIED AND
THE EYES WITNESS THE PAIR,
BRIM WITH FEAR,
WEEP, NOT TEARS, BUT BLOOD
THE SOFT CARPET SODDEN AND RED,
WITH-OUT BULLETS FORM THE EVER-VAST BED.
BLOOD AND BULLETS
BULLETS AND BLOOD
NO BLUE EYES,
NOR SHIMMER AND GOLD
IN THIS BULLETTY-BLOODY FLOOD.
THE BERIEVED LOOKS ON
AND THERE IS NOTHING TO LOSE,
AND COOL FLAKES OF SNOW
COME DOWN, IN THE CHILLING SILENCE;
CRUEL OR CONSOLING, WHO KNOWS
BUT ALL WHITE, A GENTLE SENSATION
THE DORMANCY IS PROCLAIMED,
THE EYES ARE WHITE,
THEY DON'T VIE WITH SKY,
IT'S NO MORE BLUE, NOR BRIGHT,
AND TWO MINARETS STAND,
THEY SEE EVERYTHING,
AND SAY NOTHING,
AND FOR EYES; THE WINTER SLAPS THEM SHUT.
AND DEATH GOES ON IN THE SHROUD OF LIFE
LIFE! ......YES LIFE! ....LIFE! ,
A RAY OF HOPE, A SINGLE RAY,
GLISTENING AND GLITTERING,
MAKES ITS WAY, THROUGH THE
BLAKEST BLANKETS OF GLOOM,
AND WAKES THE SLUMBER OF DORMANCY,
LIGHTS THE FLAME OF REBELLION,
TANTALIZES OUR MEDIOCRITY,
THE FEAR, HEAVING, BEGINS TO MELT LIKE SNOW.
EVEN THOUGH THE AIR HANGS
COLD AND COMMUNAL, STRANGLING SUFFOCATION,
YET EYES, NOW SHUT AND RED
WITH FEW DROPS OF BLOOD,
HAVE HEART-FEALT EXPECTATION,
AND THEY LIFT THE SHUTTERS,
WITH ALL THIER will, ALL MIGHT,
TURN BLUE, ONCE MORE BRIGHT,
AND LOOK TOWARDS TWO CHINARS,
BEREAVED BUT NOT WITHOUT life,
YET TALL AND STATELY,
IN THIS BULLET STRIFE,
''OH MY SONS, MY LIVING AND LOST ONES''
IT'S NO MORE WINTER, AND THE WINTER IS NO MORE'',
THE PROFUSION OF BUDS,
CALLS YOU TO FUTURE,
SUCH AN ENORMOUS PROMISE,
SO RADICLE ROMANCE, SO GREEN,
REVOLUTION AND ALL SHEEN,
THE APRIL SUN IS SMILING,
FEAR AND SNOW MELTED AWAY,
THE EYES LOOK ON TO THE NEW BUDS,
AND BLAKEST OF BLACK COMES,
THE DROPS, THOUGH FEW IN NUMBER,
WILL COME DOWN,
AND FROM EVERY DROP,
A CHINAR WILL RAISE,
AS TALL AND STATELY,
WITH ENORMITY OF BUDS,
AND THE PROMISE OF GREEN.
LET THE BLAKEST ONE COME,
LOOK HIM WITH BRAZEN EYES,
HAILS ARE NO MORE HAILS,
THE APRIL SUN IS ALL SMILES.
feroz rather
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