Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Wait

The old man shuffled towards the shrine,
Where the fragrance of the hibiscuses spread,
Deeparadhana chants, devotees in a long line
Offered prayers to the Goddess, resplendent in silks of deep red.

In the temple the kathakali performers prepared for the dance
Vivid make-up, costumes colorful and grand,
Enacting an ancient epic, they began to prance,
Bringing energy and life to a still land.

As the drama unfolded, the old man began to think
He had been awaiting his son's return for years.
With each passing day, his heart starting to sink
He had lost his son and along came the tears.

His son had moved on to distant shores,
A land of skyscrapers and towers
A land where wealth literally flows
And he had forgotten the past, much like fallen flowers.

Yet the old man continued to wait
For hope is a wonderful thing.
It gave him the audacity to dream against fate
A reason to live, pray, sing.

The demon Keechaka was at last slain
And the drama came to a close
The dark clouds brought down gentle rain
Unfurling his umbrella, the old man rose.

Tomorrow they would perform another story
Duryodhana Vadham, maybe.
Their show would go on with all its glory.
And the old man would continue to wait and see...

2 comments:

  1. Excellent one Sruthi mol. This is a class apart from the rest. You have started getting the art of using imagery in poetry. Conveys a deep meaning. Well written.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yay! thanks karthipaa :D SO glad you liked it!

    ReplyDelete

Sunday, September 4, 2011

The Wait

The old man shuffled towards the shrine,
Where the fragrance of the hibiscuses spread,
Deeparadhana chants, devotees in a long line
Offered prayers to the Goddess, resplendent in silks of deep red.

In the temple the kathakali performers prepared for the dance
Vivid make-up, costumes colorful and grand,
Enacting an ancient epic, they began to prance,
Bringing energy and life to a still land.

As the drama unfolded, the old man began to think
He had been awaiting his son's return for years.
With each passing day, his heart starting to sink
He had lost his son and along came the tears.

His son had moved on to distant shores,
A land of skyscrapers and towers
A land where wealth literally flows
And he had forgotten the past, much like fallen flowers.

Yet the old man continued to wait
For hope is a wonderful thing.
It gave him the audacity to dream against fate
A reason to live, pray, sing.

The demon Keechaka was at last slain
And the drama came to a close
The dark clouds brought down gentle rain
Unfurling his umbrella, the old man rose.

Tomorrow they would perform another story
Duryodhana Vadham, maybe.
Their show would go on with all its glory.
And the old man would continue to wait and see...

2 comments:

  1. Excellent one Sruthi mol. This is a class apart from the rest. You have started getting the art of using imagery in poetry. Conveys a deep meaning. Well written.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yay! thanks karthipaa :D SO glad you liked it!

    ReplyDelete