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| ⓒof the owner |
I wrote on sand the grasses screeched
I wrote on fire the smoke screamed,
I wrote on the sea, fishes cried;
Everything in nature and what tiled its way,
On the spur of the moment pushed me away.
“What if nature’s protection dies
And all its syrupiness wipes,
What in life do you think would trend this cave,
Without solid tongues delivering a shave?”
The tongue is the sharpest blade
That could make a mountain fade
It is sharper than the thirsty sword of napoleon;
And can shape-shift into all like a chameleon
It can repair a torn world
And could destroy a great lord.
Such misery is what it bears;
Such history is what it shares.
Whether you boast of property
Or you roast in great poverty.
Either in cars you drive
Or stay put in a hive
Whether you die and are buried beneath six feet,
Or your soul in rest cannot be given such seat.
Is it to dress in purple robes
Which make your fame shake the globes
Or is it dirty clothes you prefer to put on;
Walking around the streets with cloths intolerably torn?
Whether you place your two feet on gold
Or drag them on stones like a dying old
Whether you live in a tiny small hut
Or your place is as big as the white court
Whether in life you lived as a slave,
Or great freedom your destiny gave…
Do you wake in castles where servants make you smile
Or you work to feed your mouth setting from mile to mile?
Whether the gargantuan cloud is your bed site
Or you lay in places as small as a child’s kite,
The tongue will monitor your every step,
And nail you on its sharpest cross with great pep
It puts no feather in cap to what your status says,
It seeks first your grounds for life’s bays.
What of the eagled eyes?
It is the prey of spies.
Like the sun it watches over all
And puts the world in its mammoth pall.
Just like the tongue, it cares not for ones purse,
Before getting enthused to take its course.
If your abode is chief in the street
Or yours is that which lies in discreet,
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| ⓒ of the owner |
Or every spot you trend you screech,
Either you pray to God of All aloud,
Or your silence of heart can move a cloud,
Do stroll in the corridors of your little home
Or roam in a mightier palace than that of Rome?
Do you freely jolly like the perky breeze
Or your plan is to make all your movements seize?
Do bury yourself in that place that’s last
Or shake the whole planet with trumpet blast,
Either be a sheep that’s so cool
Or a goat that behaves like a fool,
Lest your life is smooth and vivid
Or yours is so rough and rigid,
Lest your plan is to hide in a nameless rock,
Only in time before the eyes get you stuck.
No matter how silver-tongued it could be
Or wrecked –like a fleet crashing on sea,
It’s just a blink before the eye knows, a change in time before it shows
And openly review
All you barred from sun’s view.
The eyes, just like the speed of light
Know all that are hidden from sight.
There’s none left but one that completes the tree;
For the searchlights of life counts to three.
I must never be too weak to share
Of that last kin, which I must declare.
At every juncture, it becomes a resident,
The recorder of every single incident;
One who sets its foot on flora
Not even a whisperer of silence
Could hinder it from taking its sequence.
It has even been since the period of Isaac,
When Rebecca hid in a bend and heard him speak
Of placing blessings on Esau, the birth-right donor
Thus led Jacob to gain the holy honor.
The elders have a saying to make it known;
The wall possesses an ear of its own.
The ears, master of all rumours
That swell everywhere like tumours
Speak of the lizard that clings to walls,
Listening to every word that falls,
Tell a tale about the perching bird,
Taking note of every sneaking word.
Watch that tiny one flying around
Be careful of it, stories it gathers round
As little as it can be,
Nothing it cannot see.
If only whispers you try to use
All in its ears it will peruse.
Careful! Careful! Careful!
Beware! Beware! Beware!
Of Walls! Of Swords! Of Eagles!
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