Allusions

[K K Srivastava]

Rains descended from the heaven,
and drenched her to her core.
Having thought, for a while,
over the matters ponderous,
I felt what dryness was all about.

Exclusiveness in it’s ubiquity fell
from everywhere,
and absorbed her florid quietness, mutely.
Having thought, for a while,
over the dulled trivialities,
I felt what depth of innocence was all about.

Bright and shining images recoiled
innocently,
and wrecked the ruins around her.
In the infinitude of my own mortifications,
I could feel voiceless voices voicing something.

I wouldn’t quiz her about her choicest
ecstasies,
and also about her substance.
Nor would I quiz her about the remnants of
her musical humility
and it’s morbid stillness.

Allusions do have their limitations,
these fly, endlessly,
demurred and obstinated.

Lightly engrossed in elevated incongruities,
I severed their (allusions) internal relationships.

I looked through these allusions,
my intellectual restraints loathed my narrowness.
And her eyes gave a pensive look to the triumphal
sensuality of my stilted mind.

The glass has just broken.
Scattered and scattered.
I heard no echo.

She peeped into broken glasses,
castigating me for not seeing
the allusions,
tamed me there, for a while,
and I saw no reason why should I leave
the allusions.

Can an echo represent an allusion?
Can separation represent togetherness?
Can what is not lost represent the gain?
Can turbulence represent concealed peace?