THE CYNIC AND THE EDGE

THE CYNIC AND THE EDGE

In the silence of falling snow,

In the silent beat of river flow,

I heard a cry,

A farther plea,

From the selfish ‘I’ to the hiding ‘WE’

“Don’t believe”, was all I heard,

Just then the mynah perched,

The conversation hence lost in the mounts,

The inquisitive I, thrown into doubts,

My team of trekkers paced slow,

Appreciating the rarity of the snow show…

We dug our sticks hard into the soft white crust..

I rushed , the kid in me, wished to be the FIRST ,

As I stepped forward, trekking towards the peak,

A globule of soft snow just skipped my feet..

I stood there suspended at the edge…

Supported by a mere wedge,

A glance below, and death seemed at bay,

And rescue seemed miles away,

For I knew, none shall help endangering their own being,

Even the mynah can’t fly lifting the baby bird on it’s wing,

As my sliding hand just gave away from the snowy wedge,

A fellow trekker tried pulling me on the edge,

But within seconds, now both of us hanged toppled around

As mere wind whooshes would have seemed our pitched cry sounds

But still a shrill of noise seemed a ‘knock for help’ to one more man ,

That’s when I realized unlike me, no one is a cynic in my clan !!

He managed to lift both of us off the steep terrain,

I heard the mynah again,

Still I heard a farther cry, a still farther plea,

But this time from the HELPLESS ‘I’ to the FEARLESS ‘WE’

“believe” was all I heard,

And again, the mynah perched…