(1932 - / Jorhat, Assam / India)

Ruminant Pleasures

When I have the luxury of being left alone and lazing on bed
The mind’s eye ambles through the veils of past to recap
The many moments unfading, ever memorable and ruminant:

The quaint way my jealous mother promptly looked to my needs,
The countless ways she covered my numberless peccadilloes;
The way my gritty father struggled on to keep going my studies
And stood like a rock by people and for causes righteous;
The naïve fun and frolic I had with my long lost childhood friends
In the eerie crannies of the vast and idyllic countryside;

The capering calf sucking its kindly mother in a foamy bliss;
My gentle brush of the complaisant cow on her downy skin;
The whine and purr of my canine pet squirming on in circles
To reach and peck at the itching tip of his bushy curled tail;
The frisky gambols and nimble U-turns of the nibbling squirrel
Breaking the peanut open and fastidiously feasting on the kernel;

The kaleidoscope of my childhood pranks and prattles;
The wooing thrills and frills in the beaming youth;
The way I jumped into brink-balanced adventures
Heedless of well-meant warnings of near and dear;

The motley ’musements of my filial flowers and fruits
And the sight of twinkles in their wondrous eyes;

The golden runway-like streaks
Up on the westward evening sky;
The cascading rain on a free holiday dawn
When I am snuggled up in my cosy hearth
Reading a novel through in solitude
Pepped by copious cups of complacent coffee;

The chiaroscuro of the little brownie points
That came off and on in my life;
And then the few times I managed to crack
My favourite paper’s crossword full…

Now I was jolted and shaken up, as I heard:
“Would you just vegetate
Chewing the same old cud? ” -
I broke out of my reverie
And set out to seek afresh
Present springs for future sips.

[Jan 29,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 6

Rudyard Kipling


Comments (6)

The second and third stanzas fix the first and spare the ballad. Time in it isn't right. Time does not kill itself or stops to be. It goes on. What quits being is our human time, the human time of our bodies, not time as a general substance or thing. http: //www.4cashpath.com/
A brillliant piece from a great craftsman. Well deserved modern poem of the day.
A great poem from a brilliant poet! This is the line which touches me most: মোৰ আন কোনো সত্তা নাই, শব্দৰ সতে মোৰ অভিন্ন সংসাৰ; Congratulations on your poem being chosen! Thank you.
শব্দ মোৰ শুভংকৰ সংগীত কিম্বা উচ্চতৰ গণিত থাক অবিবেকী যুদ্ধ, মহামাৰী বসন্ত, শব্দ মোৰ চিৰাচৰিত কৰি তুলি ধৰোঁ ৰক্তাক্ত স্বদেশ স্বকাল ......///// সংগ্রামী চিত্তে অসাধারণ ভাব প্রকাশ
থাকক অবিবেকী যুদ্ধ, মহামাৰী বসন্ত, শব্দ মোৰ চিৰাচৰিত প্ৰতিকূলতাত আয়ত্তাধীন নিপুণতাৰ গুৰুত্বপূৰ্ণ অকপট তৰোৱাল | মোৰ আন কোনো সত্তা নাই, শব্দৰ সতে মোৰ অভিন্ন সংসাৰ; যাৰে, খণ্ড-খণ্ড কৰি তুলি ধৰোঁ ৰক্তাক্ত স্বদেশ স্বকাল; ......touching expression with great concept. Beautiful poem. Thanks and congratulations for being chosen as modern poem of POD.
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