Blistering skin,Boiling brain
Pouring sweat
Blinding eyes..
You may ask.
Is he a traveler?
Or a warrior?
In search of a quest.
Mounting the stiff oracles of mankind,
Humanity and peace
Searching the contentment
Searching a meaning to be alive.
Don’t mistaken he is not Buddha.
He is a poor peasant
Searching a future in a desert.
Which he lost long back
In his millet filed.
The journey has never end,
Though the limitless sky has become smaller,
The salty ocean has become a lake.
And the world looks too short for him..
From where he cleans glasses of a sky scrapper
From where the Horizon curve..
Elevated to touch the sizzling sun
Elevated to an example of the civilization
A departed hope cleaning dirt
Of human prosperity.
His sweats drop
Never reaches ground.
His painful voice
Never reaches thy ears.
an his Tears.
will never roll below cheeks..
no need to wipe at all.
What reaches is just the memories
Breaching the oceans and mountains
passing by one straw roof hut,
And his kids playing
Maoist and police.
Mounting off the box
Long day graft ..
On the way there lies a carcass
He won't wonders what he died for
He wonders what he accomplished.
He won’t shed tear either will smile for him.
Waving the hands saying Good Bye!!!
Rather he imagine….
May be a bottle of booz
Will make him feel better
And a cool breeze of A/C
will give him.
coolness of his Bhanjyang
May be he will dream some more dreams
And the next morning
Sun will Rise but he won’t.
A beautiful wooden box will be ready for him.
Just the difference is,
The box will be filled with his carcass.
Instead of sweets and toys for his kids
Again it will be filled with a Postmortem report
Instead a pair of new dress for his wife.
A new Pandora’s box
Don’t know how they will open?
I wonder!!!
and
Wonder.
13/06/2013
Abu Dhabi
