HANDS OF SORROW

I saw a star dropped down
under the shadow of a lonely tree at the fag end of our street.
It has no light now
Not able to see the down
Can’t see moonlight either.
* * *
Every day carring morning
Taking along scriptures
Waking up the street, a sage
Whose voice is not being heard
Empty and a passive street melancholic.
They(sages) are seen limping
With seas of sorrow,
Meet you
There stood before you
The stretched hands that
Need no acquaintance
A big cry for each hand.

Wherever you stand
At Bus-stand, Rail way station,
Cinema, a crowded piace,
They appear.
Throwing a question at you
The alm-seekers with
Palms full of pitiable lines
The seven seas in heart of desert,
The tides of tears in a last life.
Each one a storm
Each one a tumult
The hands that cover you around an
Irritation for a day far you
For tham.

Living a life –struggle for food
A striving for a life –time.
Who makes them cross the
River of salvation(vaitharani)
With out the sorrows.
Who fills their hands with
Some roses
Some other litys
Some more marigoids
And makes their hearts
Beautiful gardens
I feel that
Their hands take in the
Divine nectar.
They are heard the tunes
Of the gods
I fell that a rainbow is
Plucked and kept in their hands.

* *