Poem By sayan sil
It’s often that I think,
This world is a short place for us to live.
With all the thinking we do,
With our ideas,
With our feelings, which choke on confinement,
& Perish in its obligation to survive.
I cannot demand a reason for being myself,
Neither a cause for loving you.
Deep in the midnight-
When I lay in my bed below a starry sky,
& Ask my heart astonished-
“Say, what gives you your never ending throbs? ”
And my astonishment taunts me,
“Idiot you know the answer”
Probably I do.
And long long ago when history was on papyrus,
Her rigid eyes overlooked an invisible incident.
And thus deprived the world of –
Another outrageous love-story of how-
The little wild flower on the bank of Nile,
Had cried all night,
When, on the 26th day she came to know,
That she had loved,
The neighbour butterfly.
Probably it was her prayers on the 27th
That she had a rebirth.
Along with her beloved butterfly.
& Probably my astonishment did not curse me,
For not knowing that the butterfly was me,
But for not knowing who the flower was.
And now that my heart’s throbbing,
I remember it with my eyes closed.
That long long ago,
On the bank of Nile, on full moon night,
In the last hour of the 27th day,
When the butterfly was breathing his last,
Ha saw a tear dropp of the flower,
Which has sharpened it’s blunt end all through these years,
A smile on you face.