108.Myth Of A Legendary Love Poem by rajagopal haran

Among the carved images
On the parapet of the temple
Many representing the heavenly,
Kings and saints
All in attitudes of
Pious exaltation,

But

One figure,
Low down on the cold north side
Had neither crown
Nor nimbus
With face so hard bitter and downcast
Must be a demon


Pigeons roosted
And
Sunned themselves
All day on the ledges
Of the parapet

They called it
A lost soul

One autumn day
A slender bird,
Sweet voiced,
Fluttered onto
The roof of the temple

Only the effigy
Of the lost soul
Offered a place
Of refuge

The hands of the lost soul
Did not cross hands
In the pious attitude
Of other dignitaries
But its arms were folded
In defiance
And
Their angle made
A snug resting place
For the little bird

Every night
It crept carefully
Into its corner
Against the stone breast
Of the image

The lonely bird
Grew to love
Its lonely protector
It would sit in
Some rain-shoot
And
Trill forth its
Sweetest music
In grateful thanks
For its nightly shelter

The wild drawn face
Seemed gradually lose
Some of its hardness
And unhappiness
May have been
The work of the wind
Or weather
Or some other influence

Every day thro’ the long
Monotonous hours
The song of its little guest
Would come up in snatches
To the lonely watcher
Those were the happy days
For the dark image

The priests planned cleaning
They admired the song
But the bird was spoiling
The parapet above

They caught the bird
Put it in a cage
Lodged inside
The precincts of the temple


The dark image knew
More than ever
The bitterness and loneliness;
Perhaps his little friend
Had been killed
By a prowling cat
Or hurt by a stone
…Perhaps had flown elsewhere

But everyday morning
The lonely soul heard
a faint heart-aching message
from the prisoner in the cage
far below

At high noon everyday
When pigeons were resting
After a sumptuous fat midday meal
And when sparrows were washing themselves
The song of the little bird
Came up to the parapets
-a song of hunger
and longing and hopelessness
-a cry that could never be answered

the pigeons remarked
between mealtimes
that the image leaned forward
more than ever
out of the perpendicular

one day
no song came up
from the wicker cage
it was the coldest day
of the winter
pigeons and sparrows
looked anxiously
on all sides
for the scraps of food

have the inn dwellers thrown out
anything onto the dust heap?
Inquired one of the pigeons

“ Only a little dead bird! “ was the answer

There was heavy rain
in the night throughout
there came a crackling sound
and a noise of a falling thud

in the morning
it was seen
that the figure of the Lost Soul
toppled from its cornice
and lay now in a broken mass
on the dust heap outside

priests said that
they would have an angel
in place of the Lost Soul!

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