ECHOES OF THE COSMIC HARP
I’ve a tiny harp singing out in the freaks
Of fresh and fickle rhythms
Tuned to the heart-throbs
Of the cosmos, in the womb of which
I was born once into a zygote of mankind
By whose grace the miracle of
My coming into a mother’s womb happened
I do not know who really knows it
I was born anyway into life
Via the sacred suffering of a woman
In motherig me with the holiest of pains
Come to life and living as I do
What I know only, and nothing else
The unending thrills of those songs
And dances and a tempestuous tapestry
Of life pulsing at first for a baby
And of life that is vibrantly ebullient for a youth
And of life parching like a petal to droop and drop
On the play of light and shade warped by time
Meanwhile woodlands keep rustling to me
On their varying notes
The sky frees me on its varying moods
The rain wets me on differing feels
The sun shines on me in differing warmths
The wind pipes on to me in changing scales
And the sea lulls me with its undulating music
As if I’m again a baby crying for a lullaby to sleep
I take the myriad notes of the cosmic harp
And traverse my way
Singing the feeble echoes of their melodies
©® Jay Basu 9 November 2024
