M.D Dinesh Nair
THE IRONY OF A CONCEPT
Most of our lives are, I fear
Like the cinders that are
Neither coal nor ash in state!
They clog the roots of swaying carnations.
Our fears, like cheetahs, run faster than our thoughts.
Helplessly you and I tear off the last page
Of the books of our biography written in a hurry!
None has read the end of them.
I see a petaled coral that is green,
Which often hides the white death, the greatest leveller
And we perish drowning the hope for ever!
Like many rivers which have changed the course.
We live often without meaning or purpose,
With meandering and engulfing the cardinal designs.
We often see a homeless God wandering!
And in our gardens we accommodate Him for 'ever'.
In the midst of the ruins of burnt umber later
We see Him lost and we mourn over it
And His shrine is completed with an idol installed!
It remains closed within the walls shaded with mystery.
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