"Beauty is truth,
truth beauty,
that is all Ye know on Earth,
that is all Ye need to know..." - John Keats

Monday, 13 February 2012

The Moth's Tale...

Delightful as a bee scented to its flower,
flew the moth...
Creatures wild and big walked across the alleyway
and he ran through the marketplace, stealthily...
The moth followed
flying in frenzy,
flapping its wings, into the thin marketplace,
and he followed, ever silent,
stopping every time she glanced a look back,
hoping she would walk up to him and talk...
Ask him those questions,
but she would stop,
probably in expectation,
or in disdain, he couldn't tell what...

Alleys grew thinner, and distance seemed to grow larger,
there came many moths, buzzing,
and the song of the crickets and other insects,
hummed sweeter than his voice,
or so it seemed to him...

He tried to sing, but croaked like the old frog
jumping at the doorway, only to be swept away by the merciless dame...

He stopped, as the crowd grew thick,
the moth flapped those wings ever so slowly,
and the croaks lost in some distant evening music,
probably an insect, or of those bigger more beautiful creatures with richer plumes and coloured tail feathers...

Subdued by hopeless thoughts, he knelt,
only to see the struggling moth,
with bent wings and a harsh note on its song...

He got up, turned the last alley, from which she gave a fleeting glimpse teasing him to push on...

The song came on louder beyond that din in the distant corner,
he made a mad rush...

Moth's wings gave a last fight,
and once they reached against the wall, they saw,
a dainty nest perched on an unreachable ledge,
she sat there,
crickets croaked the tale of happiness,
and in the sunset, with its colourful plumes,
the bird showed off,
and she sat in their embrace,

Beneath, in the alley corner,
he sat, tired moth flew no more, rested,
in the dark space where no light reached,
and wrote, wanted to walk back,
but had strength no more...

- Karthik Adithya Singaraju

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