to the crowd within

-Pratik Chakraborty

waterfall-man-nature-image

He uncapped the pen on the table
Flipping through the blank pages of yore
He paced away from his luring cradle
He flooded his mind – an arid shore.

He spoke to the crowd in dire despair
He spoke to the crowd in his inner being
The crowd that darted towards earthly pleasure

“I ask you to quit, once again, I do
That cubical confinement that you call home
And reconcile with the kingdom of Her Majesty Nature!
Her subject you are I reckon.

Haven’t you heard the honey sweet birds
Chirp at six in the morning
Or the mournful ballad of the sacred sun
When it is so forlornly sinking

Take a look at the timorous sky
When she lashes it with her cane
Feel pity for the dreary traveler deceived by the mirage of nature
Under the blanket of her sly pretense

Such is her elegance
Her hat deserves another feather
But Alas! We mistake her tear
For a dew drop on the heather

She is, indeed like, a good old mother
Strict and stern at any wrong
But Oh! She does fail to façade
The tender heart, ready to embrace her son.”

It was the same abrupt end
Although a portrayal of the span he did retain
He said “I will be back…
Back to speak again”

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4 thoughts on “to the crowd within

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