This
poem was discovered among my daughter’s diaries a few years ago when she was
cleaning her room….. A scrap of aged, yellow paper, neatly folded into a
rectangle, with her baby scrawl saying “Daddy poem” fell out of one of her
numerous diaries and would have almost been swept away, had it not been for the
scrawled label.
We
opened it and there it was…. I had composed it a few months before our final
exams in college….
When
she was a little girl, our daughter had this habit of rummaging through Daddy’s
and Mummy’s papers and stuff, and then store the things that caught her fancy,
in her cupboard. Good for her and for
me, I must say.
Looking
back, this was composed at a time when our final semester exams were almost
upon us; some campus interviews had taken place, no one had yet landed any
jobs, my study partner and I had not yet qualified for any of the interviews
because of our marks. There was a pall of uncertainty hanging over everyone as
we prepared to move out of college and begin a new chapter of our respective
lives. After five years in college, many were in the mood to “just get out
there” in order to re-live a whole new experience; to try and “do something”….
Wanderlust
(composed
– 16th April 1981)
I
hear the call of yonder wilds,
As
if a siren song –
The
haunting tune of the living free,
Their
pulse of life so strong.
O
! Take from me this fettered freedom
And
let me feel them all;
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
The
breaking of the surf on rocks,
The
salty smell o’ the breeze –
The
seething foam and towering waves
Out
in the stormy seas.
The
cozy nests that sea-gulls build
In
cracks in the high cliff wall;
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
The
tinkle of the little bells
Of
cattle homeward bound;
The
gleeful sounds of boys at play
In
the meadows all around.
The
drone of bees in summertime,
The
rustle of leaves in fall;
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
The
solitary eagle in a turquoise dome,
The
petrified waves of sand;
The
garish beauty of cactus flowers
Adorning
the desert land.
Braving
fiery storms that blow,
Stand
hills so proud and tall –
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
The
bugle call o’ the early bird
Heralding
the dawn of day;
The
rustic tunes the farm girls sing
While
loading their wagons with hay.
The
beauty of the Indian summer
The
rain-and-thunder squall;
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
The
sparkling rivers of endless flow,
The
fields of golden grain;
The
fiery beauty of a lonely sunset
O’er
a desolate plain.
Never
was born an artist whose
Hand
could paint it all –
I
want not a hearth, I want not a home,
I
want to see ‘em all !!
***
Epilogue
My
childhood was full of long train journeys across the length and breadth of
India with my parents and sister. I guess the long hours spent by the windows
of trains as they sped through myriad landscapes find their reflection in the
poem above.
Reading
this poem after more than three decades of service, involving travels to many a
distant land, and matching it with the events of my life during this period, I
guess I had this wanderlust in me since childhood….
The
thoughts of the sea and voyages were perhaps born out of the numerous stories I
had read as a child; I had then never imagined even for once, the amount of air
travel that I would undertake in the years to follow. (I am yet to set my foot
on a ship, by the way…)
Wanderlust
- revisited
(composed
– 8th Sep. 2015)
Night
flights under starry skies,
Velvet,
diamonds and fire-flies –
Pearls
and gems laid out below
‘Tis
the cities, as I watch them go;
But
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
Airport
layovers – day and night,
People
rushing to catch their flight;
Shops
and cafes in fluorescent glow
Lovers
and dreamers taking it “slow”;
But
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
Deep
blue night o’er a sleeping land;
Blood-red
dawn across desert sand –
Flying
high with the sun so low
That
quickly turns into a fiery glow;
But
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
Two-hour
sunsets and four-hour nights;
Endless
days on morning flights –
Over
forests, plains and coasts we go
Over
burning deserts and mountain snow;
But
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
The
joy of visiting some place new
Is
a privilege granted to very few;
A
smile and a nod with eyes aglow,
People
turn into friends from long ago –
But
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
All
those people, everywhere
Similar
thoughts and fears, they share;
Bound
by their lives’ high and low
Does
not matter which God they know.
And
my home and hearth; they
Beckon
me, wherever I go !!
***
