Santosh Bakaya writes

THE FOG

PART ONE

Section 5

In the misty light, I saw a girl sitting on a rock  

Pouting petulantly, patiently playing with a lock  

Of golden hair which cascaded on her shoulders 

As the waves shamelessly flirted with the boulders.

Her brows resembled the spread wings of a gull. 

She sat with a stoop, her expression sad and dull.  

Brazenly, with the trees played the wind wanton. 

In a sulk, she patiently waited for her loved one.

The river lay slumbering and dreaming in repose.  

Now came a boy running and handed her a rose. 

She tossed her hair and asked him to go away. 

"If you don't like it, may I give you a bouquet?"

Oozing confidence, asked the boy curly haired; 

With a loving smile, at the girl lovingly stared.  

With a gesture wild, she threw away the rose  

And pouted petulantly, belligerent her pose.

The waves pounced on it with a rare agility, 

Drowning it with an unconcealed rapacity.  

It disappeared in a dance of pearly foam 

And buoyantly in the river started to roam.

The boy looked at her with an expression sad.   

The girl continued to sulk but was not glad. 

Furiously, he mumbled and gripped her arms  

While the river continued flaunting its charms.

The fog descended, the girl vanished from the scene. 

It was as if what I had seen had never been. 

The earth was speckled with traces of last night's frost. 

The curly haired boy stood alone, looking so lost. 

How I wanted to probe the dark recesses of his soul.

Filled with curiosity, towards him I furtively stole. 

Clouds jostled and shoved each other into frustration.

Forward ploughed I, undeterred by mild trepidation.

I headed towards him, cold hands in pockets.

Two dark eyes stared at me from deep sockets. 

Stark terror crept up my heart as he slowly spoke 

As though dead embers he was trying to stoke.

His eyes unfathomable as a moonless autumn night, 

Face parched, hair a tangled mess, sorry his plight. 

He had a deep tragic furrow across his forehead,   

On his face a sad grimace, in his eyes sheer dread.

"What are you looking for?" I asked the unhappy lad  

In navy blue trousers and a torn shirt who was clad.  

"Hush, hush,” the crisp breeze whispered past my ear.  

On the lad’s heart shaped face, was that a lone tear?

In the blink of an eye the desolate boy was gone. 

The wind swept wrathfully, malicious its drone.  

In the surroundings there was an air of sad defeat.  

The forest appeared with noxious fumes replete.

 

 Mysterious Foggy Morning Himalaya -- Samiran Sarkar