Learnings Post King's Cry

By Aarti Kukreja

Watching through a T Lens,

A once in a lifetime visual

That sensitized all my senses.

A precise and super steady shot,

Of a tiny person

With a bedraggled and fractured stroud

Walking down a bemired road

Somehow to me, looking like a caliph

With a hued cape and a scepter.

No smile, but still I captured one,

So much sweat, but I saw none.

Innocence in abundance,

And struggle from venom.

Suddenly the zephyr was tangible,

And the king of the megalopolis

One and sole constant leg worker,

Not in aid of others

But in furtherance of his mother

Who was lying next to necrosis

In want of water

And love from her cherub.

How long will she endure?

Will it be the water,

Or his ardor that will save her?

Or even his prayer on the way,

Maybe nothing at all.

Maybe her gerent will return;

Return to see her in irreversible coma.

He might be the king to me

But he will be nothing more than

A vagabond, who is orphaned

And who will again tomorrow walk

Down the same road

And I will capture him in my frame

T Lens and super steady;

Super steady like his bleeding heart.

By Aarti Kukreja