Do you hear his retiring, from day long work <br />his foot lazily falls on the ground <br />not to annoy earth or from tiredness. <br />The lossened clay and we call him, <br />gather round him and fire. <br />Sitting, the quite hours of childhood, <br />which have nothing to say. <br />By and through the fire he changes <br />everytime his transformation escapes us <br />stars stay for a while as a mute witness. <br />Words on the warmth of darting flame <br />reach our ear <br />smoke fill up the every space of childhood. <br />Amidst, he leaves few spaces for us to fill <br />with whisper and breath. <br />We the fearful <br />always fill up <br />lest his transformation and by him ours <br /> might crush.<br /><br />subodh pandey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-other-storyteller/
