Badri Raina | Caravan Daily
Sixty years after, eyes bleak
With age, I see the swoop
Of swallows skim the rich
Skin of the waters near the
Zero bridge as the crimson of
The autumnal skyline fades
Ever so lingeringly into the
Rich greys of twilight. I
Begin to hear the thud of
Strong, seventeen-year-old
Footfalls of meaty adolescence
Striding to manhood along the
Langurous river bank as the sounds
Of the city subside to an early
Srinagar night
And then it is that from
Jhelum’s other bank, a radio
Breathes the fatal waft of your
Song, meshing the longing of
The purest Eros with a throw
Of voice that pulverises my
Rebellious blood into the thrall
Of willing submission
Sixty years after, I have not
Heard a more compelling reach
Of soul winging towards me
On a voice of paralysing vulnerability
You did not just sing, as others do;
You beckoned from the caverns
Of timeless love for a consummation
Those mere singers hardly know
Among the Valley’s ineffable
Splendours were, are, will be you.
