How Could You Ever Call (poem) by Nikhil Parekh

How Could You Ever Call
by Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet → (All Poetry by Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet)
Thursday, March 17, 2016 Rated "G" by the Author.

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How could you ever call a miserly auto rickshaw an aircraft; just because it increased its speed to a threadbare maximum; every once in a while? How could you ever call a diminutive stone as a colossal mountain; just because it punctured a hole through the transparent shard of window glass when hurled forcefully? How could you ever call an inconspicuous mosquito a diabolical demon; just because it stung you acrimoniously; greedily sucked only a few drops of scarlet blood? How could you ever call an amalgamation of several colors a rainbow in the sky; just because they faintly resembled the vivaciously striped festoon which appeared when it rained in sunlight? How could you ever call an infinitesimal candle flame as the flaming body of Sun; just because it imparted tiny bits of brightness to stingily illuminate the morbid night? How could you ever call a small house lizard as a dangerously venomous reptile; just because it swished its tongue a little; slithered nimbly before leaping on its insect prey? How could you ever call a minuscule bud of sordid cotton an immaculately long shirt embedded with golden beads; just because it gave a timid effect of soft cloth? How could you ever call a single alphabet as the gargantuan compendium of the priceless dictionary; just because it was used to commence many words of the oligarchic English language? How could you ever call a hut as the grandiloquently adorned castle; just because it had a door to enter and leave as the palace did? How could you ever call an innocuously rotund turtle a hostile crocodile; just because it had a serrated green shell engulfing its portly body? How could you ever call a frugally single day as an entire decade; just because it had impregnated in it the cardinal constituents of time? How could you ever call a miserly chunk of robust meat as the entire body; just because it oozed scarlet blood; had some lifeless hair extruding from its ghastly surface? How could you ever call a tiny feather as the ominously hovering and big beaked vulture; just because it produced an unnoticeable draught of wind when forcefully flapped in plain air? How could you ever call an obscurely shining pearl as the resplendently tenacious Moon in the sky; just because it glimmered a trifle of white rays; sporadically enlightened the atmosphere every now and again? How could you ever call a broken piece of oar as the boundlessly fathomless ship; just because it produced ripples in the water when gently struck? How could you ever call a dingy bottle of red ink as the crimson blood circulating in the veins; just because it was scarlet in color; flowed smoothly on any surface when kept? How could you ever call a shattered and a disdainfully battered strand of glass as the entire eye incarcerated behind the fluttering lids; just because it portrayed a profusely hazy reflection of the person trying to peer into it? How could you ever call the spuriously crying film actress as the sacrosanct mother who nurtured her child with her own milk; just because she evoked sanctimonious sympathy behind the silver screen? And how could you ever call Man as the Omnipotent Creator; just because he had millions imprisoned in his wholesomely corrupt treasury; had countless people running around him at the slightest of his command not because of any respect; but to grab his biscuits of silver; to grab his sinfully earned money?