The moon solitary, the sky in itself
The heart lonely each time we met;
Hope is dead, even the stars have set
Just the reek shimmers within the self;
Is this life, we call ?
Breathing mere, alive just
The body lonely,
The spirit dumped. ?
Even with partners I met on way
We trod alone, apart in own sway;
Beyond these lights, off and on
The house will then rest alone
By itself, shrivelled and forlorn
Waiting… after I am long gone
Glass eyed but still looking on
Absent steps, path overgrown.
Why insist, my dear, for my tale bland
Weaves insipid, its joyless strands ?
* * *
Blistering frenzy would have brough him to these ruins
Else who would light a lamp in storm this booming ?
Speck every must hold his prayers pure
With God must he have each form cured
Quenching the thirst of burning thorns
Palms loving, the dripping waters hot.
And if he’d find a shining golden rock
Reflect it’d his clear, own broken heart.
Ere the traveller wipes the blood spatters clean
Know, he raised this garden in barrens rocky.
* * * * * *
Adaptations of poems
written and sung by Meena Kumari.