When the feet turn unwilling
You can talk all you want
But cannot make them walk
Like they used to and take you
Wherever you want them to go
You remind them of the trek
In the pathless hills cliimbing
Through shrub and rock racing
With those taking the beaten path
Were these the same feet now
Unable to shuffle to the nearest shop?
The mind remembers the early morning
Dip in the Ganga in the coldest month
The body shivers now though swathed
In thick sweaters and shawls in a city
That is considered warm by the young
Even during its yearly cyclonic weather
The mind refuses to grow old even when
The eyes see the world through a haze
As silhouettes and shapes and shadows.
No comments:
Post a Comment