Awaiting The Beckon Poem by AnanthaKumar SUBRAMONY

…And it's just that good old twilight once again,

Bringing, through the lone window of this cubicle,

Onto my tired feet, the shadows from the past;

Faint, yet, profound enough; to emboss

The profile of the tree to which I once belonged …

The air reminds

Of the days bright;

Along with my fellow men, up there,

Playing with breeze was Myself- green;

Adorned with glitzy dew drops,

Toiling day and night, with an ever set mind,

Taking all pains sans an uttered word,

Nurturing my young-ones round the clock,

And guarding them against heat, hail and storms…!



Now today I lie in plight;

Besides the uprooted tree- amongst those disposed;

With expectations both withered and dry-

The expectations that it's now my turn to be nurtured;

But I lie; blown away by my own kinfolk

Just 'coz I've turned yellow, and can serve no longer.



Yet I kill another day of despair,

Hoping the next rendering a moment of solace eternal;

At what, I'd like my soul to be freed,

When happens, nothing else, but the much awaited beckon…

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