The Lake’s banks
by B.R. Nagpal
From the banks of the lake,***
The boat was ready for the ride of the wayfarers.
An agile, impetuous, innocuous child
locked up with his opposite
frail, feeble, rational old man,
sat next to each other
The pilot would ferry them through circular route.
The child held tight,
his companion piano in his hands,
The boat swung to motion
into the radius of expanded sunlight
It was all magnificence,
a vision, dream, being oneself
The golden light that radiated through waters
was like prismatic gems of brightness.
The profusion of colours was haunting.
The child deciphered
eloquence in waves, flutter of winds
like the tones of his musical instrument
The bird spotted mauve and black
zoomed up to the top of a houseboat
in a split second
It was a marvel.
The old man, subdued
tumbled in his ill-fitting pant
He saw shades in the shapeless clouds
His ifs and buts
drifted him to the uncanny
weeds, nooks and corners
Lacerating his lava,
His mind was a heap of confusions.
The child cried
Where is the destination?
There were clouds within clouds, planets within planets
It was stunning
The entire flora and fauna, underground vegetation
Only a leaf from the book of Nature
The child along with the old man
returned to the beginning point
In their delightful partnership, self-endearment.
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