Obsessed with Golden Feathers

Because I could cope with the pace of racers
I thought I was meant for that
Jostling a lot that came my way
I was busy gathering golden feathers for my hat.

Nostalgic rendezvous turned down
Many a D-days I did miss
Fearful of losing that every second
I didn’t even stand back for my granny, who came scuffing to kiss.

Despite feeling the twinge in legs
I could never dare to rest
Impassioned to lead the ongoing rat race
I erroneously christened my Insanity as zest.

Little did I know, what I desired
Would gradually prove a mirage
What I believed would give me pleasure
Ditched me, being life’s prank of camouflage.

During the days I had prowess
I was never grateful of being able to fly
Like a moron I remained obsessed
For I only had to touch the sky.

I flew and flew as long as I could
And traversed a million miles
One day when I could try no more
I found my lone self amidst a hundred isles.

Reclusive, forlorn, gasping there
I could hear my conscience shout
Busy collecting golden feathers
I couldn’t notice my people falling out.

I had a sumptuous place to live
But nobody to share
I stopped bragging about my overflowing pocket
When I found no one to care.

Medals jingled in the breeze
But there was no one to be proud
I had the coveted name and fame
Yet I was lonely in the crowd.

Heaving sighs of utter regrets, I realised
It’s not always not too late to change
I would suffer henceforth, for that every time
My loved ones I did estrange.

I left the hands of my fellow trippers
I didn’t rejoice the journey as I scaled
Having conquered the mighty mountain
I grieve that in life I have failed
Now I say :
It’s never the name and fame
Or even the wealth you gather
It’s the number of people you have by your death bed
That tucks in your hat, the sterling golden feather.

The Reply

Rabindranath Tagore in Geetanjali wrote it as an invocation to God
“Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not!
I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.
It may not find a place in thy garland,
But honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand
And pluck it.
I fear lest the day end before I am aware
And the time of offering go by.
Though it’s colour be not deep
And it’s smell be faint, use this flower
In thy service and pluck it while there is time. “

God replies “ When I let you bloom my child
I wanted to have you in my garland though
But you gulped my light and sucked my stores
Yet failed to leave your bud and grow.
Inside the bud, shielded from tempests
You think you have been valorous enough
I let you bloom to conjoin souls
To spread the fragrance of love
But you stench of malignity , making lives on my bust tough.
And who did teach you on colours dear
I don’t remember tainting you
You downed my bounties, reflected back
And each appeared a different hue.

Kneel with respect, with love, with regard
Kneel to ask not take lives, fool ( The white police kneeled on George Floyd’s neck which ensued in his death)
I gave you a frame to help others stand
And not to use as a deathly tool.
If you are such a weakling dear
That you can do no good at all
Why do you dare to harm my toddlers
Aren’t you ashamed of your moral downfall?
I endeavoured to see my flowers
But woefully there are none but deadly thorns
Who rejoice tender flesh ripping apart ( The pregnant elephant was fed explosives, the fruit exploded in her mouth)
Don’t spare even the innocent unborn.
As my vision splits, trailing through tears
You express joy over the seven coloured rainbow
With a little of those colours, sprinkled on you
Why do you find it so hard to share a bow?
When I let you bloom my child
‘twas for my service I waited for you
But you refused to bloom, to be at my feet
For you wanted garlands at your own feet too.
I’ll hold the leash of time taut
I’ll not let the evasive time gallop
If I see you, my child, willing to bloom
I swear for the moment I’ll make the cosmos stop.
You need not be a gaudy flower
Nor with an ambrosial incense
Just be dappled with the hue of love
Just smell of care for others
That’ll be my most treasured essence.
I’ll pluck you not with the touch of pain
But it’s relief that I’ll help you gain
The day I see full blooms on the stem
My child,
I’ll happily pluck out all of them. “