Wednesday, December 31, 2008
What made us to call a flower, love that withers
When it is only half unfurled?
Why did we call the breath taking magnificence
Of a rainbow, that can always melt
In the tears, a maiden?
Why do we a call a hornbill, which is always thirsty,
The desire or passion or lust, in the human mind?
Why do we call that butterfly hoping around
Pretty flowers, an alluring dream?
Why that crystal platter that shatters, when dropped
In the earth, is called the human mind?
Why do you call an uninvited guest
Coming into our life, the destiny?
Why do we call a comedian who arrives
At the most inopportune moment into the play,
Unannounced and unexciting, DEATH?