Monday, February 27, 2012

Eklavya :)




Only that child will tell you,

The story of a self portrait,

The song of freedom, we not know of,

Only that child will tell you,

Who has never seen and felt firm sweaty palms.

Every little blink will have a hidden glare,

Every jump will be without bounds,

Every morsel will be dry,

Every season will be just a condition,

Only that child will tell you,

Who has never seen and felt firm sweaty palms.

For home is now a shelter for a hundred heads,

All my own companions in solitude,

This home is not home,

Home is just a distant imagery.

What you see my friend,

Is my wide jaw,

Not my silent night,

Where the moon is my only confidant,

Whom I am afraid to share my dreams,

For he is a mutual confidant.

All I need is your sweaty palm,

To count on,

When the moon will go away,

You shall be my shell,

Who are you?

Why do you come here?

What am I doing here?

I shall go away soon,

To where I shall belong,

But I will always know the story of a self portrait,

And then I shall paint the sweaty palms,

Firm and warm, hopefully!

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