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By M. A. BARI

Tired and worn out Life�
With aching joints and painful shoulder-blades�
Carries a burden of shades and shadows of care!
The Night, too, had a dip in the Black-sea....
And now sleeps out in the open...
Far from the wearing candle of the room�
Completely a spent force!

How to pass this heavy, hanging, wobbling Time?
These–the poems of Wordsworth....
These–the monologues of Browning�.
And here are the dramas of Shaw!
Which of these would see me through?

The nymphs of breeze
Come peeping through the window-panes:
And shy and bashful�..
Come gliding towards me!
And so softly kiss my eye-lashes....
And with tiny tender hands,
Sprinkle color on my weary soul
And, it turns and turns, until it’s fully cool and coloured!
And my heart is now a Krishna
Which dances to its own tunes�
Never its own!
Never its own!

And the Fairies of Dream
Come rolling one by one....
And pinch my heart�.
And pick up my dying hopes from the stretcher�.
And put them on their golden wings....
To make them appear�
Diamond and rubies!

The lap of Imagination is full of colors!
The Queen of Hearts goes soaring up to fairy-land!
How lovely are the Dreams!
Heaven and Earth are mine!
There, in the ocean of endless moonshine,
The waves of silvery corn, shine.
There, in the storm of color and scent,
The caravans of paddy descend.
The Beauties have washed themselves with dew!
The stars of Love play hide-and-seek all around!
The dull, dreamy eyes tell stories of empty barrels.....

Life now wears the necklace of Love;
Its arms now have the armlets of aspiration;
The feet now tread the foams of joy!
Hope now sings to the tune of dancing desires.
Beauties smile and affection plays....
A phantasmagoria of color and shine and jazz!
Now! Even earth is a paradise!

But the Fairies of Dream-land
Suddenly thin out into smoke,–and vanish....
And push me down here–into this so called ‘rats alley�,
From such a dizzy height!
And the Minister of Sleep,
So leaves me alone�..
To turn my sides on this hard, uneven bed!
The long snakey silence,
Snaps my heart and soul....
And sets me again on the thorns!
Ah! the World of Dreams
How Lovely it was!

But who would now dare
And who would now care,
To sleep on this bed of thorns of Reality!
Where there is such endless, offensive humidity!
The lips of petals are injured�.
And the throats of Nightingales, cracked!
They croak a dirge,
That goes to heart�
Like so many fiery needles!
But the stoney Gardener sleeps aside
Lead in his ears,
And iron in his soul.
The learned damsels,
Shed sour tears over their misfortunes....
The schools and churches,
Give lessons of ignorance!
Hopes stumble there:
Life hiccoughs sobs!

My dearest, nearest friends do tell....
“You have a knack for singing songs
And writing poems....
Why not come and do it now?�

But while I think....
The load I carry,
Of the thought of
Bread and butter:
How to dare,
To go there�.
To the world of jazz,
To the world of stars,
To the world of colors and grace!
With a load so silly....
Ever so increasing�.
With a load so ugly to look and think!

When Vision gets a round somersault,
And is run over by Frankenstein....
The fringes now hang down of gabardine!

How to dress my unfinished Venus
My symbol of Love–Unsatisfied!
In quilts of Poetry–soft and warm,
Made of wool and feathers of swan!

So let me live, unseen, unknown....
And let me die unheard!
For the songs I sing

Seem a distant dirge

Like the whispers....
Of the falling leaves....
In a calm and patient Autumnal night!