Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Chandamama Mooned

Oblivious, yet orbital;
above all he hovered.
During the day, invisible.
Illuminous post sundown.
Through myriad phases,
he circled not giving a tuppence,
about the lives on the damned land.

Until, he noted a peculiar behavior
prevail, all over.
He slid down on a mission,
in a black cassock, under cover;
To spot the super power
that’s keeping their necks craned
and heads lowered.

Now, not a grayhead,
pointing up, narrated fables
to their offspring during supper.
And amidst power cuts
in the candle’s glow,
no lips whispered
tales of lore to those nearby ears.

Awkwardly, these days in solitude
their faces shone, nonetheless.
Bouncing off a luminous blue
emitted from the plaques
they were cuffed to.
Radiant and engaging, these devices
were stuck between their faces and palms.

Finally, he had found the deceptively devised,
and enviably engrossing, source for misery.
Little wonder, they quite rarely shared
or as an heirloom, they inherited the stories;
sickened, he aborted the mission
and returned to his synchronous rotation.
With his dark side, dropping his cassock, he mooned
but the damned, all the more, paid no attention.



Beautiful amit...So beautiful...

payal agarwal said...

Sadly,it's true. Beautifully written!