When the stars set
Somewhere far away
Behind the high mountain

The Sun engulfed
The coolness of the night
Across the river and the wild terrain.

The yellow brightness
Woke the world up
To wage the fights again.

The dewdrops that shone
On leafy, green grass,
Washed the ***** stain.

The kids of all races
Played then hand in hand
And I laughed without refrain.

I was a seed
in the soil
of the courtyard
in a house.
I sprouted
my shoots,
bore my foliage
those very tender
and soft,
blackish green leaves
shining
in the early sun.
The dewdrops
rested
on their tips
reflecting
like pearls
silvery white.
I saw
a blue-eyed babe
in the womb
of his mother
cared for, attended.
One and all
were happy
within themselves.
They were ready
to welcome
the new angel
whose presence
would spread
happiness and joy
everywhere.
Mother would say,
“You are my hope,
my love,”
as she would feel
his presence
in her swollen womb.
In the next
house, however,
A little baby
in her mother’s womb
saw
the sad faces,
felt
her worrisome presence.
She heard
them silently,
as they were
plotting her killing,
and her mother’s unspoken pains.
She smelt
her end nearby
tyrant hands
no longer listened
to her cry.
Thus, she died
She died unborn.
Here in my yard
my shoots
grew strength
opened arms to the sky
unbridled, unabated.
All of a sudden,
the toddler came,
played with my shoots
slept under my branches
in the shadow.
Together
we talked and laughed
saw the world
in the restless race
we were in love
dying hard
for each other.
The boy became an adult
money, money
was in his pursuit.
This is how
our friendship
was broken, our love stories
dampened.
“Where have you been?”
I asked.
“I needed money.
That is what
You cannot give me,”
Came the answer
“Take an axe
To cut my branches
Sell them
in the market, and
get
the money.”
I was ready
for the sacrifice.
This was not enough,
as his demand was so high
touching the sky
Then I suggested,
“Uproot my presence
to make a boat
for a long voyage
beyond the sea.”
He was happy
in the middle of the sea,
unaware of his world left behind.
I felt sorry,
sad in my mind,
worried for him
and of course, for the death.

I was a child
in my mother’s lap,
very small,
unaware of earthly matters.
On the floor,
I toddled
and grew.
Jocund, joyful,
Were my parents
when I looked up at them
with my child’s eyes.
I was in a school
with my book in a bag.
I wondered
what it would
make me,
what knowledge it would
give me
in its word maze
and its labyrinth.
But then,
I started reading
in a routine,
page by page
line by line
word by word.
Soon I felt
a deep association,
its every chapter
a philosophy,
Each word
a lesson of life.
The philosophy
taught me life skills
and made me powerful.
I have known
a life full of groans
ups and downs and stifled moans.
The vision that
life is cyclical
perpetual
ever learning
exploring
moving
like the sun, the moon
the earth itself,
that
nothing is final,
like a plant,
which is cut
today, but will have new shoots
next season.
That
when nature
is bountiful
it spreads happiness,
and sorrows
when it is dreadful.
As I studied what was contained in my book,
coded on its every page
in its every line,
it has felt
my emotions,
shared my happiness and
sorrows as well.
It has had my dust
on its face
felt my agony
in its open arms.
Now,
as and when
I am sad,
weary of life, my soul pent up,
I embrace my book
like a friend
snatched from a cataclysm.
Of course,
it isn’t merely a book;
it is a friend—
indeed, a friend.