A Tryst With Loneliness Poem by Basu Maan

Feeling sheer pity
for the lonely heart of mine –
that, to throb furthermore,
perhaps has forgotten,
that, after a longing too long
for fingers running soft in my hair,
a waiting pair of eyes, that admire,
drape with intense love and care –
on his rusted scooter rolling,
now yet again with none –
only the scooter growling –
left to himself, all alone,
recklessly rolling down the road–
pitch black and serpentine –
to some distant destination,
meandering turn after turn,
so unknown, vague and vain –
that, it betrays my intentions
and that, it seems no more
the wished destination –
to strive for,
to put in an effort for,
to go for,
to leisurely dream for;
so much so that life appears
to be unkind and unfair
to this heart of mine, ever in distress,
because it made me linger
since time immemorial
and just made me impatiently
walk for long, long time
through the desert – sandy,
and wait and wait for
a glimpse of water there,
in the endless expanse of sand
somewhere, hither and thither,
and ultimately showing me
how soothing water looks
and arousing an interest
in me how satiating it tastes
after such a long thirst,
without even a drop of water,
through the hot and arid desert –
where any throbbing heart may falter –
by showing an oasis – far away,
in true sense, never within
the reach of my legs – tired and weary
apparently near enough to be seen;
still my heart as it is –
such shameless, unshaken, wooden! –
goes on and has resolved
to go on and on and on,
singing a tune – unsung,
and unknown and unheard of –
for whom? – neither it can say
nor knows the deplorable life
nor to be theist, the God,
yet my lonely heart as it is! –
shameless, unshaken, wooden –
fights, thrives and strives
waiting for the unseen and destined
until and unless it does appear
to take it away along with me, its abode –
out of the preordained future,
where it lived for all its life –
though it was not so happy a sojourn –
or some leading light
may be, for us two, to come
at the end of this meandering tunnel
that may rekindle hopes in my heart
and make it as glowing new green as
newly born leaves free from any dirt
from this presently brown
and sapless, lifeless being
that can make me feel elated
about this fruitless life of mine
that is not even a shade better –
through these worldly terrains –
than a lonesome, tiresome journey
where everything seems
to be pitted against us two, making
a quiver of arrows of sorrow and pain,
a hell – this heaven for all –
for me and this lonely heart of mine. (2005)