A Tribute to Nightbirde*
I remember back then
how you used to come
hang on to my every word and every poem
You and you and you
and you and you and you
I was the stars to your moon
My poems the sun to your sunflowers
I was the one you could practice heliotropism on
Then when you thought that you had arrived
Your visits became few and finally none
You said you are not a poet, or your silence did, to me
I am bigger than you now, it said, I know it all
I watched you try to remove the ground beneath my feet
Unable to feel hurt, or anything
The Krishna whom you felt that you could give a bhashan to
The Drona whose thumb and forefinger you wanted to remove
The one who was just an inn on your way to your destiny
Or cut down to size, to step into my shoes
I was busy watching the ants in the anthills
The anthills in the savannahs and not the cities
You did not know of people like Nightbirde
In comparison with whom you would never become anything
As you did not have the same amount of humility
People whom I watched, the tears streaming down my face
The real thing, whether successful or not
Fighting insuperable odds and able to go on
To sing, to dance, to write poems to fight, to live
To hope, to have faith, to love, with the courage to go on alone
I did not know them and they did not know me
But we were kin and wing to wing flew in the unknown, lost
"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok," was our song
"To be among the lost," and soar, vast, "sometimes".
To burn a hundred poems and still be strong
To never look back, and have nothing to look forward to
to break the yellow lights and know it is only you you lied to
"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok", you see
"To be among the lost", and not even soar**, "sometimes."
*Everything in this poem may be wrong. (ref. to Richard Bach's Illusions)
** have a golden buzzer moment
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