8/8/2019 Awareness by Subroto Mukerji aka The Bushman

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8/8/2019 Awareness by Subroto Mukerji aka The Bushman

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Awareness

She sat in a corner facing the wall,

In a tense little alcove just off the main hall,She sat with her back to the eddy and flow,

Glancing through the window at the roses below.

Her life seemed nothing but the computer screen,

As she sat there, rock steady, her features unseen,

He noticed slim shoulders in determination set,

But alas! He hadnt managed to see her face yet.

Cascade of hair, sometimes clamped in a bun,

Whod associate this girl with humour or fun?Sometimes the dark tresses haloed her head,

But her face was a mystery, a novel unread.

Then one day they met in the kitchen unplanned,

He blurted out an inanity he thought was so grand;

Next day she was back with a witticism so rare,

It left him flat-footed as he stood gaping there.

Her face! It dazzled him like diamonds aglow,

Wondrous beauty he had been tragically slowTo realize, acknowledge, awareness misplaced,

He felt slightly dizzy, his heart madly raced.

He made it a point to neer let her know,Just how, by her qualities, he had been laid low,

He met her rarely, and stuck to small talk,But stood at a distance and admired her sweet walk.

Her stride was like shed just bought the place,

But it wasnt her beauty, her heart-melting face,It was sheer love of life, upwelling of joy,

That gave her that gaitthe little tomboy!

In time, he realized, there now lived in his chest,

An emotion so unsettling he thought it was bestTo simply ignore it, in the hope that one dayIt would decompose finally and just go away.

As their friendship deepened he knew he was sunk,

One day his secret would be out (so he thunk),The lass was one in a trillion, he was sure,

And his malady was one that had no known cure.

8/8/2019 Awareness by Subroto Mukerji aka The Bushman

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And in time he realized that come ice or hell,

She had slipped past his guard so exceedingly well,He was perfectly aligned for a knockout punch,

And she wasnt amused, he had a strong hunch.

The seasons changed, and twas just as hed feared,

His ardour had meant that she nowadays steered,A course that took her away from his fieldBut his emotion, ageless, had meanwhile congealed.

Atavistic memories shattered barriers of time,

He realized he had known her since time out of mind,And that awareness brought him a great inner peace,

As he swam through the currents of the cosmic seas.

This time it was fated that they stay half and half,

As the gods pull the strings and heartily laugh,

At the puny human characters in the world far below,As they come onstage, playact, and then take their bow.

Shes the Eternal Woman in his fate hes dead sure,

This round went against him but hell gladly endureOther bouts just as punishing, as Life after Life

He meets her repeatedly through thunder and strife.

The day he has suffered for will finally be born,

As the hesitant first light doth herald the dawn,

He knows she will feel the pull of lost years:

Make it all worthwhile, the pain and the tears.

She sat lost in the corner before her keyboard,

Oblivious to the ancient affection that poured

Over her; and, as she toiled on before her screen,The eons swirled about her, unfelt and unseen.

The Bushman

The Bushman is the nom de plume of an underground poet long thought to beholed up somewhere in Asia. The majority of his poetry is simple and unaffected, and heseems to have but a nodding acquaintance with the three Rs. In spite of his apparent lack oferudition, however, he is a sensitive recorder of the little tragedies and ironies of life. Manyare of the opinion that hes quite insane, but just as many people think he's madly, ice-coldsober.