THE H

 

I have surveyed all letters

from A to Z

found them humped, uneven,

close, crooked, club-footed,

weak, wild, weather-beaten,

protean, protruding, pouchy,

one-sided and vain-glorious,

dangling right or left in crisp mood,

the meeting points of the fallen

except the Himalayan H.

 

It’s simple, straight, cypress-like,

tall, open, and wide,

graceful, erect, without loops,

stately, unageing, youthful

Symmetrical and well-poised,

unchanging whether up or down,

inside out or outside in

the standing image of a springboard,

the sojourn and jump to wiry walkers.

 

This is the Lincoln among letters

without any verbiage.

It’s the worst offender to eyes

when small it is,

soon shrivells in size

becomes poor, parochial, insolvent,

a picture of three-dimensional crookedness,

the creeping creature moving in the garden

in search of easy prey.

 

But the H is

The Head, the Himalayas; and He.

 

I. K. SHARMA

Jaipur

 

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