Sky

The blue of the sky has many a grade
Impossible to define and segregate
When at noon, with white patches for relief,
The sky is the bluest
I sit under it, all open,
It is the sky fest.
All around us, above and actually below,
It is the dense sky
Limitless breathless ready to rarefy;
At all time it is full to the brim
No amount of trimming or drawing
Makes it slim
With air and rain, frost and mist
Oozing out of it serein
Heat and cold, light and shade
Of varied nuance, moon light serene
Kaleidoscopic;
It is devoid of colours and forms,
It is the supra-terrestrial bodies, their norms that it conforms.
It has no complaint, grudge, idea of revenge
Or anything to exact,
Whatever the hazard it creates
Is the result of a cleavage in us;
When a clever boy throws a stone at the sky
It falls on him without being shy.

How I wonder, some persons live and breathe
Walk with bent head without looking at it,
A market-life is like living in a dark den
Without the grace of sky light air and rain.
Overwhelmed by its exalted lovely presence
I kneel with gratitude and offer my pranam with loving sense.
 

(c)Aju Mukhopadhyay, 2010