Shreeraksha A Naik
I used to live amidst the wanderers,
the kind that used to get lost.
Lost in their thoughts more often than in the bushes,
the one that never got tired,
tired of the restlessness of their forlornness.
I used to sing along with the tribals,
the kind that created poetry,
poetry on beauty, beauty in the scars on the face.
The ones that knew that fire told stories,
stories of how dearly the moon loved the sun.
I used to listen to the story tellers,
the kind that knew that stories lived,
Lived with their struggles and legacies.
The ones that never demurred to share their secrets,
secrets pertaining to the existence of the philosopher’s stone.
I used to be with these wanderers, tribals and storytellers,
The kind that believed in goodness,
Goodness love brought to this place.
The ones that knew how to live,
Live amidst the rumbles of the disguised souls.