Tuesday, May 17, 2011

A Hero's tale

The light at the end of the tunnel was dimming 
when she held my hand and said this was the time 
to dive in the netherworld of experiences 
move beyond you and me 
where we will never be the you and me 
but perhaps there would be one 
who would refuse to join in 
pulling out at the last time 
from the crevices of hope 
for history to fill his story 
with certain myths 

He would be the hero 
who never joined the turn of the 
road when it swirled around breaking 
narratives of the day to day life we lived in 
he would never know the last fairy tale 
which lulled the yet unborn to sleep

In these labyrinths of never ending tales 
he would never know the sun 
which used to wake before us in the dawn 
and cuddled us to sleep in the dusk 
or of the river which refused to carry our memories 
 the snow which melted to remind that it 
was never late for a spring in life 
or of the tiny boy which was me 
who never knew the tree he rooted in the soil 
will turn up to devour him one day

Will he ever know that there was a small girl 
born on the day he refused to come home 
who never wanted to play with her toys
but just hold on to her gun 
for in her dreams she still saw the monster 
which curled under her bed even before 
the threads of innocence could enamour her

Perhaps he was just a hero to be 
as all heroes are, born out of a myth 
for they sustain the myth which we see 
all the day in the mirror 
a mask which we dont acknowledge 
a tale which will dominate on all those lips 
of grandmas who never relieved a dream 
never created a tale of their own, tied and 
crumbled and crushed under the bounds 
of social

 Yet you would be born with 
the same story in your mouth not knowing 
drying lips and dying dreams crushed under 
the smell of gunpowder and receding imagination 
of a grain lying in the shallows of nourishment 

In the dimming light there lay a creation 
between you and me 
not of a hero to be 
nor songs which will die down when the 
music sings but a secret caravan of beauty 
which starts from desires of being 
of what lies as the shadow of towering 
images dominating my stories 
and as skyscrapers filling the contours of 'beings'
where you and me used to lie around forbidden waters 

1 comment:

  1. amazing poetry sir :) got to read you after a long time, and it was pure delight :)