SAND-DUNES
Dr. R. R. Menon
I am no star,
nor want to be one,
stabilised by
its celestial stare.
This green
earth which my
species need
to live by,
has hardly
any use for stars
or
star-struck pretenders
not brilliant
enough to give light.
Politics are
damned with pole-stars
engaged in
secret fratricidal wars,
the surviving
big star, a Black Hole.
Lying on my
cushioned couch
in the cozy,
wind-wafted room,
I see the
lurking luminous ones
fall one by
one on the downs
like meteoric
ash, and as
insubstantial
as an eye-wash.
Each had
aspired to be a sun
by courting
the devil, the darkest one.
The weather
outside so bellicose
and varying
with every pose;
neither knows
nor allows any repose.
It’s pinned
back by the glass shield
of my closed and
cautious window-panes
Lightning
lightens the load
of darkness
on the long road
that winds
blowing up and down
in its mad
search for eves and dawns,
confuse until
the blighted night
decodes the
music in the pebbles
rounded and
chiseled by rolling waves
I wistfully
wait till democracy prunes
All sound
mounts into sand dunes.
It’s indeed a
long, listless sojourn.