Questions...
When will that rain come, down on me from the blue sky above,
Splashing against my hard, ruthless self, showering me with love,
And plunging into the depths of my mind, a cave devoid of light,
Putting an end to my misery, my sufferings, my darkest night?
Will the divine touch, the healing hand of him who had created my heart
Come in the form of some unknown event, causing my rebirth?
Or will that profound, liberating glow, come in someone's compassionate form,
Who'll stay by my side, aiding and guiding me through the fiercest storm?
I know not, my way ahead dazed by the very uncertainty of my doubt,
And thus, blinded by my inner blackness, I wander and wander about,
Asking, answering and yet doubting myself, how shall I recognize her,
Her, who shall light my way onward, like the brightest star.
I fear, had she already passed by, and have I just missed her?
Where shall I then fins her, somewhat near or some place far?
Reflecting on these unanswered questions, I find not a light of truth,
Is life then something unreal, an abyssal falsehood?
And thus, wandering about, hopefully awaiting my turn,
Sometimes standing beneath the stars, sometimes bathed by the red sun,
I wander, carried along by the currents of the stream called fate,
And wonder, is life nothing but a perpetual, endless wait?
Splashing against my hard, ruthless self, showering me with love,
And plunging into the depths of my mind, a cave devoid of light,
Putting an end to my misery, my sufferings, my darkest night?
Will the divine touch, the healing hand of him who had created my heart
Come in the form of some unknown event, causing my rebirth?
Or will that profound, liberating glow, come in someone's compassionate form,
Who'll stay by my side, aiding and guiding me through the fiercest storm?
I know not, my way ahead dazed by the very uncertainty of my doubt,
And thus, blinded by my inner blackness, I wander and wander about,
Asking, answering and yet doubting myself, how shall I recognize her,
Her, who shall light my way onward, like the brightest star.
I fear, had she already passed by, and have I just missed her?
Where shall I then fins her, somewhat near or some place far?
Reflecting on these unanswered questions, I find not a light of truth,
Is life then something unreal, an abyssal falsehood?
And thus, wandering about, hopefully awaiting my turn,
Sometimes standing beneath the stars, sometimes bathed by the red sun,
I wander, carried along by the currents of the stream called fate,
And wonder, is life nothing but a perpetual, endless wait?
- Anirban Chatterjee
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