The walls are white
The hands play with the child.
The beard rests on the chest
The mane hides the ears.
The eyes are moist with memories.
The hand sketches on
Fragments of life.
The body is straight,
But at the slightest touch of wind, the mane leaps. He gets up,
Looking like a fluttering flag.
The feet – not bare – in slippers –
But only for the moment.
Wait for sundown
Wait for twilight
Wait for the dark night to plant new thoughts
In tempestuous dreams……..
And as the first ray of sunlight
Cracks the city enveloped by Durga’s hair
And makes a hole through the curtains,
The bare feet
will rise once again
And gallop away
Because the tale is still unfinished.
Maqbool fida Hussain Tribute