And the golden Disk disappeared
To the other side of the rock
And he, still hanging,
Kept on thinking about his existence
What had there been, which he might have lost ?
Here, many a sun wasted and many a moon spoilt
Until now, he never saw himself at things
Which made love die in the lover's very eyes.
This rock never held him in promise
But his heart said all otherwise.
Was that mere a passion-
Why was then his eyes wet and soul so bright?
Every jerk now and then,
Writing a new expression-
Garbled his sense of doing and being.
Questioning seeking, sometimes retiring -
Desperate for even a little niche.
And he recalled- a Battle field
A vast armada of tragic flaws and total black out
Reluctant Hamlet -Hesitant Arjuna
Both in need of a walking stick.
Then the call-"Arjuna! Don't live for the End."
"You can't live upto the End."
He found himself at peace
Perplexities- ruffles of the disturbed mind
Chinks and crumbles falling of rock on his being
Looked like Rain drops in the poor man's field.
Thus, he was hanging-
He dared not look below
(for it, he had lost the sense of belonging. )
He was not feeling like looking above
(for,he simply could not imagine.)
He was feeling the rock
Was it love? - the question lost its meaning
Now,his eyes were daubing every inch of the space in between...
He knew not what if conquered
As he could die too with a gust of wind
All expectations pruned - all questions dropped
He was in delirium or simply feeling at home.
