The room felt as if filled with gloom
That the potted plants failed to lift,
Nor did its look ornamental
That clashed with its dullness like rift.
The peak was it of monsoon month
I thought the gloom was just due that,
Though mind may contribute to it,
Ah world is weirdest of wild cat.
The tree in front of the window
Had more yellowed brown leaves than green,
And yet more reassuring looked,
Not the pink roses room's within.
In kitchen, the cooker's protests
Cried hoarse with steady stove-flame,
My thoughts rising in sympathy,
My pent up hurt rose all the same.
Wondered if man's best behaviour
Can match green Nature's gift to bear,
I could not rise from thoughts of tomb,
Nor could fathom death, nor its dare,
And when time came to talk about
The purpose for which I'd here come,
Signs contrary were clear and out,
And left post some routine ho-hum.
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Musings | 04.10.12 |
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Spiteful of cold dullness without; I wonder if man’s best behaviours Can ever match Nature’s endeavours To rise above defeatist thoughts of tomb, mysterious life and wondrous nature........ i love your mind which produces such poems.. tony
Thank you dear Dr Antony for such kindly words. But I must congratulate you to dig out this poem written in 2012 and lying un-spotted for long years. No diamond but at least a piece of jade. You must behaving a touchstone in your hand! !