OLD YELLOW
CRINKLY PAGES
HARSHDEV MADHAV
On the Old yellow crinkly pages
of torn book
so many monsoons have gone
so many winds and storms have passed
some earthquakes have touched them
Everything is gone – and lost
Now there is no Alphabet
of love, tears, crying, grief...
only univisible word
univisible language
untouchable affliction
Yes the story is lost, the story is ruined
There may be
Sita crying at ‘Ashokavatika’
Ahalya living in the Shape of Stone
Urvasi converted into plant
There may be an epic
torn into pieces
There may be tremor of heart
of muse
Now in old, yellow crinkly pages
there may be seen
the abortion of the culture.