He thought he knew him
By name...
Murari...
A kind soul...
Seeing him
In his blue uniform
His face
Where aging had left already a light trace
His coppery hair
His arms longish bare
His pepper salt chin
he thought he had seen...
Some twenty eight years back-
Perhaps...
he was then too young-
Innocent,
Forever on song...
Sitting by the window
he had then a world
Which him showed
How in summer mid and rainy halved state
Grass flowers rose to greet him evening late,
Sitting on the balcony white
he had then captured flight
Of swans, cranes, and numerous others
With solitary delight...
Jocund!
And
Then there He had been-
Murari...
Too...
He would visit on occasion
Like a joyous celebration...
He-
The
Murari,
Had bhojpuri songs
And in a voice so young
He would take him to His village
Where under a peepul tree
Cows grazed
And a woman,
Probably
Murari's love
Would there come
To sit awhile for Him,
Thinking Him...
That Murari
he thought he met
Grown old
A bit coppery skinned
And salt peppered...
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