Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet


Be it the grandiloquently colossal castle; or the fetidly stinking gutter hosting a fleet of obnoxious cockroaches, 


 


Be it the mystically shimmering Moon; or the sweltering sands of the mammoth desert, 


 


Be it the fathomless expanse of the azure blue sky; or the minuscule nest of the piquant beaked woodpecker, 


 


Be it the stupendously scented rose; or the yellow mushroom decaying to oblivion in the heart of the hills, 


 


Be it the enigmatically deep and uncannily marvelous dungeon; or the contemporary match box shaped town square, 


 


Be it the festoon of resplendently twinkling stars in the cosmos; or the clammy interiors of the dingy little and sordid hut, 


 


Be it the electric paced stallion galloping through rubicund farmlands; or the potbellied tortoise traversing with Herculean effort on the hard ground, 


 


Be it the astronomically huge ocean impregnated with flocks of blue whales; or the small trace of saliva lying desolate in the obsolete attic, 


 


Be it the tumultuous streaks of pugnacious white lightening; or the diminutive beehive camouflaged sedately amidst the trees, 


 


Be it the conventionally advanced computer; or the clerk who hardly knew how to sign, 


 


Be it the impeccable tufts of cotton sprouting in blissful tandem from the fields; or the solitary rope suspended morbidly from the ceiling, 


 


Be it the incredulously fast paced aircraft kissing the air faster than the speed of light; or the hunch backed camel yawning embarrassingly under the gargantuan cactus, 


 


Be it the mountain laden with astonishingly scintillating jewels from all round the continent; or the droplet of blood oozing down the skin, 


 


Be it the most invincible man trespassing on this arth; or the astoundingly small infant who had just emitted its first cry, 


 


Be it the densely inhabited jungle with majestically roaring lions; or the soft toy of plastic standing on just a brick, 


 


Be it the delectable meal of spell binding caramel chocolates; or the nail embedded pathetically in the broken wall, 


 


Be it the superlatively rosy tongue chattering incessantly all throughout the brilliant day; or the stone which lay in perpetual silence beneath the lanky grass, 


 


Be it the island which perennially received the most tenacious rays of the Sun; or the blind mans world completely obfuscated from the slightest trace of visible light, 


 


Be it the balloon pompously inflated with incomprehensible amounts of air; or the morose tyre lying completely squashed like frigidly white ice, 


 


Be it the entire army marching valiantly towards inevitable victory; or the impoverished beggar begging for alms every minute, 


 


Be it the glittering gold watch ticking indefatigably round the clock; or the placidly still statue which didn't speak or move at all, 


 


Be it the loudest echo ever heard on this globe; or the inaudible whisper dying before it even came out, 


 


Be it the thunderously domineering shadow of the towering edifice; or the ethereal shadow blending every now and then with the dolorous darkness, 


 


Be it the revered interiors of the adorable dwelling; or the utterly disgusting and abhorrent steps leading to your mundane office, 


 


Be it the crackling flames of fire that leapt ebulliently towards the coalition of emerald clouds; or the shivering piece of freezing snow dangling from the Christmas tree, 


 


Be it the assembly of magnificently radiating mirrors bundled up in an enamoring heap; or the distorted strand of moustache floating like an insipid speck in the atmosphere, 


 


Be it the most remarkable of memory that could conceive every possible situation to unfurl on the trajectory of this planet; or the mockingly dumb worm writhing on brown soil, 


 


Be it the impregnable gates leading to the presidential rooms; or the inconspicuous little matchstick feeling soggy and despondently gloomy after the rains, 


 


Be it the unbelievably big bed stuffed with ravishingly compassionate softness and warmth; or the acrimonious thorn awaiting surreptitiously for innocent flesh, 


 


Be it the ingratiatingly sweet voice of the voluptuous nightingale; or the pertinent mosquito brooding in the profoundly hollow well, 


 


Be it the most formidable stick in the bodyguard's hands; or the finely pulverized pulp of ripe banana, 


 


Be it the overwhelmingly blissful paradise harboring the angels; or the timidly remorse voice of hell, 


 


Be it the longest fabric ever woven and beautifully stitched; or the threadbare string of dilapidated shells orphaned mercilessly on the sea shores, 


 


Be it the heart beating turbulently engulfed in the flames of unrelenting passion; or the incongruous follicle of hair sadly detached and lying as still as the mud, 


 


Be it the ingenious key able to crack through the labyrinth of intricate lock; or the ludicrous buffoon who kept falling even before he could rise, 


 


Be it the luscious periphery of seductively alluring lips; or the bland water incarcerated in small jugs of wood, 


 


Be it the awesome congregation of inscrutably swirling waves crashing splendidly against the rocks; or the dismally melting jelly in the austere heat of blazing afternoon, 


 


Be it the unfathomable peak of Mount Everest; or the limp marble rolling on flat soil, 


 


Be it the animatedly leaping Kangaroo with its pack of siblings in its bulging pocket; or the perpetually still photograph hanging in the sleazy dressing room, 


 


Be it the exorbitantly costly shoes adorned by the King as he walked on the streets; or the nakedly petite foot coalescing with dust each time it kicked, 


 


Be it the poignantly sharp kitchen knife ripping apart through vegetables with nonchalant ease; or the blunt sand with no taste of its at all, 


 


Be it the rivulets of perspiration dribbling tantalizingly through exotic skin; or the brutally wounded territories of bruise that were left uncouthly unattended, 


 


Be it the beautifully embellished crown of the blue blooded prince; or the mortifying bed about to split into splinters on which the laborer slept, 


Be it the most skillful doctor's clinic which was inundated with a host of invaluably countless medicines; or the doorstep of the patient attacked by a mysteriously inexplicable disease, 


 


Be it the wholesomely fascinating magician conjuring mind boggling tricks on the stage; or the ordinary soldier who wasn't acquainted the slightest with the art of bombastic sophistication, 


 


Be it the handsomely heroic stag staring at its reflection in the mesmerizing persona of transparent water; or the horrendously ugly eunuch smoking his life into relentless oblivion, 


 


Be it a man following staunch religion all day and every single night; or the furtive castaway who didn't know what was God at all, 


 


Be it the most invincible of abode above ground; or the evanescent corpse buried boundless feet beneath, 


 


You name it and he was there; and you didn't have to walk marathon miles to reach the temple; church; mosque; or monastery to worship him; you could very


well close your eyes and pray to him wherever you wanted; for the Almighty Creator was Omnipresent; the creator was everywhere.



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The Creator Was Everywhere

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