Dr Sunil Kumar Naveen is a Reader in the Department of English, Nabira Mahavidhyalay, Katol, Nagpur. He presented papers at several National and International Seminars. He organized an interview with Prof. Shiv. K.Kumar. He is a research supervisor in Nagpur University. He wrote many poems and short stories in English.
21. Broken Wings
I was startled to find
My wings fluttering again
Against the cage frail,
Till yesterday
Doomed by despair.
Since you professed for me
Your love
On the rock
By the ocean huge,
Which seemed to sing
In the crimson hues
Of the morn
The song of love.
Chirpings of birds in the woods
And murmur of the brooks
Sang merry melodies
To my ears,
Even the bleating of the lamb
No less than
The tale of love
O dear!
The first kiss of love
Hallowed my mansion frail
With aching blossoms
That ever adorned
The garden of Eden.
But all melted into the air
When I learnt
They snatched you from me
Much against your will
'They preyed upon me
Like the eagle
That ravages its victim.'
Now, the valley green
Seems shrouded
By the veil of death
And the brooks
Pipe unhappy dirge.
The dark night studded with stars
The sky that resembled a happy bride
Seems to be shorn of glory
And looks like a woman
Having lost her pride,
And again the cage frail
Was duped by the cunning world
I fear, I cannot sing
For I have broken wings.
22. I Fear Not You
To be honest and true,
I fear not you.
As a fruit ripe
Looses its hold on
And falls from
The branch that binds,
I'll have no remorse
In leaving the native smell of the soil
That sustained so long my foil.
The ceiling - the expanse of my sky
Would first get blurred
Leaving my cell in pain, perhaps,
The indolent breath would recede;
As a last effort to adieu
My hand would rise slow
But soon would slump
On the bed
Making a little thud.
Now that I'm a man
Cares and worries, I confess,
And promises in a heap lying
I need to address.
Don't knock even in sport my door
With icy hands touch those
Who left their chore,
Swayed I'm by the swollen surge
Of unkind pain and merry mirth;
You toss me up and down each time
And break against the coast of breath.
The seers with equanimity of mind
Know you well - a mere fissure
That helps the soul slip
Into a garment new,
While the soul suffering no death
Remains pure as ever in old hue.
O Death! You do construe,
I fear not you.