Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
I blended a considerate proportion of wild sand and water,
smearing the paste with a sweet curry of white fish chowder,
neatly aligning the assembly of bricks to form a wall,
with acrid light beams of the sun fortifying the construction,
I then left destiny handle my twin storied house.
I slogged like a tribal bull all sweltering day,
burnt midnight oil to its unprecedented capacity,
flipping diligently through minuscule literature printed on decaying parchment
of books,
mustered enough tenacity to appear in the examinations,
leaving destiny to decide the outcome of my Herculean effort.
I drove my automobile at languid speeds,
caressing the gears with meticulous precision,
maneuvering the vehicle with coherent strokes imparted to the steering wheel,
applying stringent pressure on the horn before overtaking,
leaving destiny to implement whether i should relinquish breath in a car crash; or live.
I onerously molded my fingers to sketch,
feeding bare bonds of paper with ornate lines of the moist mountain,
vigorously shading fluorescent rays of the sun with my lead tipped pencil,
filling enchanting spots of the lake with crimson color,
left it entirely on destiny to be appreciated by true connoisseurs of art.
I viciously perspired beneath the flaming Sun,
performing routine tasks; catering to activities of monotonous life,
ploughing virgin chunks of clay; sandwiched amidst towering bull,
milking the cow for rich complexioned frothy cream,
left it to mother destiny to chalk plans of action in my life.
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Destiny
Destiny
