Once a beautiful idea molds itself into a phrase,
And if you do not appropriate it instantly,
You are done. It suddenly disappears into ether!
However much you long for it, you can’t recall.
Search wherever you like, you can rarely find it.
And even in that rare unlikely chance event,
Like a depetalled rose, there will be glaring imperfections.
It’s a teasing phrase which strikes the mind
Like a fruit dropping overhead unaware through foliage;
It’s as precious a phrase as a drop of rain
That abruptly slips through the clouds;
It’s a dreamy phrase that keeps company through the night
Electrifies us, yet, in a trice slithers into oblivion;
It’s a rattling phrase, unable to hail its presence, lies
Silent among the sounds, struggling to win our approval;
It’s an indiscernible phrase, as we explore the worlds around
Spreading the paper in front and concentering our mind.
The spider which leisurely draws geometric figures on the wall
Spares no time to turn its head this way to leave any hints of it;
And the forever chasing, vigilant and alert lizard
Makes no squeaks to reveal its whereabouts;
Neither the tolling bells on the gate,
The headlines of any newspaper
Nor the remote pages of any book
Restore that alienated phrase back to me.
And I have no idea when it would appear before me.
Telugu Original: Yakoob