Birds chirp for me but I hardly offer my ears
An eternal moon is ready to paint a ray on my heart
But I can’t ever offer a canvas
A stream is eager to wash my dust of years but I can’t put my feet in
A boon is showering happiness on a wide green field
But I choose to remain closed in my clumsy small room
A trumpet cries on a battel field for nothing
I am tired and wish to go out of everything at least
Alas! the sun told me to remain in darkness
As I was fighting for patty things for life time
A part of the earth was for me to create an oasis of being
But It’s still vacant and destiny nods his head in distrust…
With whom I tried to walk for long, have kept me apart
Come, o my soul, find a flute and play our own songs…

By Nisarg Ahir : 12.11.2017