After a long day's wait the magpie came.
In a misty shroud it sat on the finger-tip of the dame
Tales from afar of winter's spell,
a forlorn autumn's golden trail,
tales of deserts where sullen winds
blew hot and cold, the warrior clans,
and in processions of camels
how the night felt the indifference
of a powerful prince
and how the flowers wilted and died
long before the morning sun
came to lift the spirit of the world.
And she listened, fascinated
by exotic dreams and alien fears,
her own heart ignorant of any such strange
bewildering winds that sway lives
in dusty storms.
Bird, are you tired in the wings?
Your vision is drunk on the misty clouds
drifting in the lap of the ocean and the canopy of sky!
Tell me all that you have seen! I have covered you in my warmth
A shroud of mist covers us both
and I can see you in the light of my inner being.
Tell me how the censer burnt,
tell me how the candle held
in the burst of the light of the sun.
Tell me about the perfume you carry
on your strong and delicate wing.
Hurry up bird, do not tarry
the dawn is waiting behind the hill
and the twilight hour is ending soon.

June 18, 2016

Originally shared by Sushama Karnik

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