The Cactus

Imagine me
A solitary and ostracized
Vegetative cell
Of a barren loin
On a limitless sandy habitat,
Where my tender dream
Was sprouted.

I was dazed in my virgin dream
On being tossed
By the seasonal onslaught
Of blinding winds and winter
And sweeping shadows
Under a looming barren sky.

Between unending moments
I felt the primordial thirst
On my thorny throat,
With which sooner
I got myself familiarized.

I have touched with my palm
The surface of the damp Moon
On a naked firmament,
Playing her ancient game
Of hide and seek
On a periodic pattern.

During lingering nights,
Waiting on a forlorn hope,
I have also seen
The hollow and waterless
Eyes of the Pole Star
Nurturing in every blink
A fraction of a dream
Of a pregnant cloud
And pining for the chaotic drops
Of an earthly monsoon.

Me, having loneliness
For a company eternal,
And parched to the core
In the midst of a tropical May,
Waiting on my toes
For the breath and whisper
Of an Indian Sawan.