A Nose-Gay to the Muse

A Nose-Gay to the Muse

In an eve of youthful days

I hummed a piece, knowing not it’s gist

My grandma with her walking stick

Gave a tap on my head.

“Unni, the wayward Muse

Play on the tip of your tongue;

Reckon my dear, the miracles our

Grand sires did

With letters that are flowers...

Learn by chanting Noble verse

Frolics are fashion to the way ward alone

Kissing on forehead and embracing me

Grandma thus consoled me...

Time kept it’s circular motions detour

And myriads of red-leaves fell

Buts sprouted ever and tender leaves shot;

They ripened again to fall red

 Drying, filling and overflowing,

Twisting in controlled horizontals

The rivers ebbed and flowed

And the Earth too rolled on slow

But they didn’t trespass their margins

To gulp the shore anymore.

Perking on letters in newspapers once,

In youth hood did I find in a’ box’

A ‘news’ as a routine rite.

“A Nose-Gay to decor the Muse”

Fixing emerald on a piece of gold

A pearl should be fixed in the midst”.

Is there one beyond caste and creed

To make this nose-gay for the Muse?

 He pandits of the Palace City

Who bear the specks of knowledge’s light

asked  awhile.

Reading the news my eyes closed awhile

And my mind rushed towards boyhood days.

Opening the news paper wide

Grandma ogled at me

Putting her walking stick away

She cried aloud;

“Unni, Start immediately

Board train to the Palace city

And make a nose-gay for the Muse

By picking the blossoms of letters from your breast

And well fix the emerald on a piece of gold

And stuff a pearl on it.

Hearing grandma’s words I boarded the train

And many a dream  I did see.....

I saw the canopied casino hall

I paced fast to pass by the sculptured Palace gate.

“Show me the pass;

No entry without your Sponsor’s reference!”

Babbling thus the watch man obstructed me

And gave me a push on my shoulder.

My poor eyes darted awhile

To the canopied citadel top...

Tear drops streamed on my cheek

The vast and wide Palace street

Opened before me.

Weary by trotting for long,

I sat in the shade of a  tree,

And my eyes closed for a mild snap...

There in front my grandma stood

Without her walking stick!

“Unni, mop off the drop from your eyes

And move on to Indraprastha

The door that was shut up before you

Will surely  be opened there!

Turning, she walked off from my sight

And I got up pressing my back

Raced on in mechanic move

Clinging on, I boarded a train

Two unknown guys with muscular fists

Appeared plotting to hurl me out....

I crookedly retired to a nook

Evading the sight of the giants

Rolling for days and nights

Before the third day’s bird-roost

Panting the wagon did stop.

At last at Indraprastha

I saw the great city sights

The pride, notions, selfishness all

Of man shrinking into the atom’s atom

But saw no key makers else

In the eyes that got tired of search

A pond of tear drops surged...

Deemed to go back to the village of birth

I cursed my grandma though

Baggage I bundled with

Stale linen on my shoulders

I started to trot the streets

Inner eye full of experiences

And scenes of wolves drinking blood.

Electric supply had had a break

The capital night grew black;

A resplendent sphere appeared

With a wonder-light onyx halo

Light spread around

Stood there smiling

And showering eye-glaze

The Muse of verse in my front.

Picking the blossoms of my heart up

I coined a nose-gay soon!