I have this friend of mine,
brilliantly skilled in performing
things that can annoy me
to the utmost. I am amazed at
my luck to have this fellow.
One fine day, he visited my place
in evening when I was on terrace
bidding good bye to setting sun.
Hours of dusk pour a calmness weird
into my heart. Only time I feel rest.
His eyes were swinging along with the
clouds stuck in sky to use it as playground.
Nivedita, write me a poem on clouds
their white color, their ice cream shape,
their cold vibrance.
I walked towards my table to get my pen.
As soon as I begun and only a few words
born on paper. Nivedita, this isn't right.
Clouds aren't white. See properly, they are
orange. Without any shape. Floating.
I erased my words, replaced white by orange,
ice cream by nothing. Flickering vibrancy
by speedy floating. Just a paragraph
did turn alive. Again his voice. You don't listen
to me attentively. You only ignore me.
I raised my head. Nivedita, clouds are grey,
dark, patches of light living only under shade
of moon. They are flat discs. Broken chains too
somewhere. They have no energy. How can
they move speedily.
And I looked at his face constantly for a while.
Put off my note book. My pen. Approached
to the gate downwards. Oh! You must be
tired after so much work. Please make coffee
for me too. I again looked at his face.
So tired me did make two cups of coffee.
One for my tired self.
Other for this friend of mine.
Who is too annoying.
But never leaves me alone to cry.
Though I can't in his presence
write any poetry.