There is pain..

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……………………………………….