On My Way To The Graveyard (Part 2)
On my way to the graveyard,
by Saheb Mohapatra
I found a cradle standing beside its dead owner,
And it seemed to have life.
Every time when it swung, my eyes wetted my toes
And the cradle too called the crows,
For requesting them to find a hope for its existence.
Every time when I gazed at the ever-slept baby,
My eyes too turned heavy and I couldn't see anything,
And soon, when I got them back again, there was nothing.
The tiny owner disappeared,
Disappeared, its living cradle
Disappeared, its bad days,
Disappeared, its sweet shrieks
That once helped it join with people,
Both cruel and gay.