The old man and three telescopes

Watching milk white fog

Painted across the hills

Tried to find a bridge

Crossing a needy heart

Squinted eyes hurt

In search of water

Gushing down far away

Like tears of forlorn soldier

The kind Sun stepped

Bore the misty clouds

Quenching his thirst

He smiled upon the old man

Diamonds drifted

Like near heavens

Of a love spectrum

Bowing to ‘Pa

His three telescopes

Were no companions

Two were dead sons

But this one fed him

Comments

Anonymous said…

I was inspired to write this poem when I was at Lamb's rock in Conoor in India. There were these ancient telescopes lying around at the hill top and I was looking at them. Then came this old man who said he would show the waterfalls amidst the think fog that covered the area. I strained my eye and peeped through the telescope. Lo and behold! I could see the fog clearing slowly to unravel this beauty. Next thing I see is that my husband was tipping the old man and I thought...wait a minute..this is his income? Waiting for the occasional tourists to come and...But then, Conoor is such a beauty In our opinion far better than Ooty's bustling tourist traffic...Why?Not too long ago my folks got away to visit this place to enjoy the serenity of a hill station..So would many..and the old man goes on! :-)

February 4, 2008 at 8:28 AM

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