There Is pain…
Beautiful
were the days,
When I
used to write about pea and maize
On the
paper the sun shone and birds flew
I
wrote about ever smiling farmer and singing birds
And
yes the cuckoo whose voice I heard
The
flower, the rain;
The
breeze and the beautiful train,
Endless
were the things I loved
My
best friend, my teacher and the neighbor Girl
All
had a poem on them in my diary
But
now there is only pain
I
wonder if these things were lost
Or
maybe I couldn’t see
Heading
towards the Egotistic world
I see
myself grown up
Even
now I write poems
Not on
flowers, not on farmer
But on
the olden Days of mine
And
the beggars seen by the roadside
I am
easily irritated by the sin
I
easily ignore the flower I tramped on
I have
so much to write about the pain and grief
And no
more stories of faires
Standing
in front of mirror
I
asked the reason
May be
my diary changed
Or my
pen changed
Maybe
it’s because of the new house
Or the
birds who don’t visit anymore
Reasons
may be many
But
the truth is that I have changed
………….And
yes the poem
There
is now a pain……………………………………….