Likely the stray leaves of autumn
Cast out of the perches of their ways–
That of weaving the story of
Life on planet Earth.
The essence of them speaks to me
in their search for themselves,
a grey dove blubbing with pain,
From under a thorny thicket,
Fearful of being engrossed
In the earth as shared destiny.
As one among all early-waking grievers,
I could see under the golden Sun,
That the season of fall was not in reckoning,
The chill of foggy morning still not faded out,
With my eyes closed,
Only to see from other senses.
And this beginning of seeing,
Accompanied by deafness to consolations,
Emptied all my fear-intelligence
In a wine bowl to drink
To augment the acumen of my listening silence.
They begin speaking to me again
In the stillness of their sadness,
Quite disorderly, in arrhythmic diction – the thread of their story.
My senses are again stirred and roused
To the unsatiated quest of life
Manifesting itself by turning over
The crumbling leaves into new ones in their old perches of habit, and
Refashioning their diction.
G. Javaid Rasool lives in a small town near Lucknow. Most part of his life has wasted doing almost nothing, except earning livelihood from documentation and writing works with organizations like UNICEF, Care India, DFID, Aga Khan Foundation etc. His writings have been published in Social Scientist, Link, Times of India, Jansatta and Indian Express, besides, the websites of the ’Varsity of Columbia and WCAR (World Conference against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia & Related Intolerance).
Featured image: Shess Khan Afridi / Unsplash