I was standing under the night lamp,
With quiet stars staring at me,
Almost failing to time…
Were the huts and hearts to the swamp?
Blessed were the clouds
That peeped when we kissed around
And the rest was all clutter…
Feelings over the pan; all fetters
The smoke went above the airplane
Yet smelt the same; insane
Dew drops and some molten chocolate,
Over the grass; inside the oven
Rest what left failed to ruin
The castles of love; the tears of rain
I was still standing under the night lamp
With the hearts and huts smeared by the swamp
|नादान परिंदे, घर आजा...|
Imaginations are weird. They come to you, rove into your brain and leave you with a thought. It was 4 in the morning with the zephyr about to unfold and the ‘Nothing Else Matters’ track echoing in my room I grew. There is a light post in front of my house. It was time, when I thought of myself standing by it and rewinding life by a frame or more. And then I thought of the poem I just wrote and you just read.
I always felt scores of surges and swamps in life. Joy and Sorrow. Love and Pangs. I was almost to the place that I left. The lights made me blind and the smoke made me restless.
With all sorts of uncertainties now open, the journey to finding the metal of what made me begins and you know what…
Nothing Else Mattered…! ! !
Amit Purohit (The Lone Soldier)