Thou are Vouched
by Dr. B.R. Nagpal
When the zigzag traffic of mind ***
explodes like an overfilled balloon
When the convulsions of heart
The debilitating body reverses its shrinking further
The curtain rises.
It is the august ceremony of new birth
Body, mind, heart articulate
different rhymes, tones
in the spectacle of awakened creation
The streamlets dash against stones, rocks
finding their route to the ocean
The branches of the tree in their frothy substance
rise to sustain the imposing tree
The rose springs in its fullness
oblivious of the thorns
Thou are reached
in the garden of Love
on the unfathomable song of bulbul,
when the old man seated on bench
listens in rapt posture
when birds mate undisguised
on their monosyllabic tones
The infant clicks, lost in his mother’s lap.
The glow of sunset arrives
sprinkles crimson beams
upon human beings, decayed leaves
into the sacred halo
of another existence.
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