“Who goes to the hills, goes to his mother….”
– Rudyard Kipling
They once lived in a mountain
their feet still saunter with
the care they once had for a city
that glowed beneath them.
Even today when they speak
their eyes twinkle
like those old times up there
where the stars spoke to them
when merely looked at.
They drank from the clouds
fermented rain into wine
wherever they sat the grass grew,
the earth cared so much.
Time never bothered them once
always followed them around
looking for the rescue
from its own patterns.
Life was passionate there
replete with violence
filled with love.
Loud laughter mingled with muffled cries
and expletives that never worked, floated around.
Stumbling in that hardened place,
many hit upon some hearts so tender
like they had walked inside of a seed
within its soft, sweet, life-bearing core.
Then one day they all rolled down the hills
and what was once routine
became the stuff of fantasy.
Many went deranged
But to most, life let not
slip away the grasp
troubling them enough to keep them troubled,
pain lesser than needed to cure itself.
These souls spend all seasons huddled together
when winter is the cruelest away from home.
Spring arrives only in their memories
when they get together
they travel to the hills, but they find the departure
stays so much with them that
the process of returning takes forever.
Let’s wish madness for them.
Normal is too much
for them to bear…..
– Tabish Nawaz (2005 Batch)