A Look -411 Poem by Smruti Ranjan Mohanty

A LOOK -411

Your palm

Your fingers
are like the petals of the Queen of the Night—
soft and shining.
When they dance upon the strings of a guitar,
it seems a silver rivulet has found its voice,
singing, with passion, an ancient lyric of love.

Your fingers
are like poems of romance,
teaching even silence to bloom,
making even mountains sing and dance.
They are unmatched sculptures
of unspoken feelings,
silently touching every shore
that drifts near.
Even forgotten wounds remember how to smile.

And perhaps that is their secret—
they heal without ever announcing it.

Your fingers
are as delicate as morning mist,
as graceful as the first sunshine.
They touch every heart,
they enter every mind,
whether one stands
in the blooming spring
or beneath the sweating summer sky.

Your fingers,
the gift of the Almighty.
When they touch a stone,
it begins to sing the lyrics of love.
When they touch the blind,
the blind begin to see spring in full bloom.
When they touch the deprived,
they discover an abundance of hope.

For me,
they are a bunch of desert roses
that help me withstand
the hot summer and desert wind
with a smile upon my lips.
They remind me that tenderness, too, is a form of strength.

And even now,
your fingers remain—
like the petals of the Queen of the Night,
soft and shining in the chambers of my heart

Smruti Ranjan Mohanty©
India
11.6.2020
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