Smile on Migration

 

When my own bustling beauty blossoms

bids me goodbye

it seems as though the dove

that was huddling close to my heart this long

has taken to its wings

throwing a misty screen for eyes

knowing fully well...

like a Siberian bird on migration.

 

That she has packed up and took away all festivities and frolic with her

rendering us, so soon, seem not to exist amidst people.

It's not until one comes tete-a-tete with it

no pang or pain could ever be understood.

 

Those capering leaps,

childhood sand dunes and

captivating mischief that adorn this house still,

remind everybody of her.

There are no wakes of her taking off

except the agony of not finding her here,

and the unplayable stoicity towards her absence.

 

Even you and I won't leave out

all plants that shoot up at one place

Nor leave out all flowers and fruits

to the branches that bore.

The paroxysm of partition, however strong one might deny,

doesn't touch the hands that part.

Else, notice that hand holding hers...

be it is of a saviour or not

with the pride of the victorious over the vanquished

is all smiles, glittering,

exactly like mine, sometime during the past.