Emerging out of teacherís home
Loaded with knowledge
Of the things exalted
Dreams woven in poetry
Heart inspired to scale
The highest peaks
My head struck
The low entrance
To his door
And momentarily brought me back
In the world of reality
Where sufferings abound.
Walking in the street outside
I noticed his was
The most humble abode
In the whole street
There were dwellings
Reminiscent of kingly grandeur
Buildings were being renovated
Embellishing them comforts
That the wealthy can afford.
There was the robust Sikh,
A businessman perhaps,
Who was viewing with great satisfaction
The handiwork of his paid craftsmen
The teak doors, the marble floor
The latest electric fittings
And the richly decorated walls.
The teacherís home
Looked old and uncared for
Except for the chairs
In the verandah
Facing the small unkempt garden
Where a few books lay
Scattered on the old table,
A perfect formula for poetry.
Rest of the house
Looked quite prosaic
Filled with reflective anguish
Of a pain filled heart
That dwelt on things
A little too deeply
And yet seemed lost
In a world
Far away and above
The din of the daily life.