The End Of A Story Poem by Ravinder Kumar Soni

The ruffians who knock at my door,
In the dark of the night,
Are not violators,
They only disturb my sleep and my neighbours'
Who the whole day long, do not sleep at all,
Working on their looms, weaving dreams and nasty tales;
They should have their rest and nap
As much as I do.

The boulder delicately poised on the top of the hill
Will not tumble down;
We who live in its shade will soon grow old and die,
We do not wait for the boulder to roll.
What if it never falls.

She is in no hurry.
She stands beside that piece of rock atop the hill.
The set of gold bangles adorning her wrist loudly tinkle,
A song often bursts from her lips words pour out in a rhythm
And to me, she raises her brow enquiringly.
She is my muse,
I see her presence everywhere.

It is springtime.
Flowers are in full bloom
And the air is thick with their heady scent,
The honeybees happily hover over them
They know that the flowers are sweet.

All stories do not end this way.