The Knockings Poem by Shamsher Kendal

I often fathom the tapping that run
on the street and the gate,
my mind responds the knockings
instantly rather than wait.

There are the leaps and bounds and
a sudden saltation,
Kids are making a fuss with their
play and participation.

He would strike a gentle knock to
register his presence,
there is my gardener to nurture the
flowers and fragrance.

Sometimes there visit a guy who is
quite pallid and weaker,
and reiterative holler at the entrance
make him an alms seeker.

I sense the soft steps and my mind
need not to probe,
for I can say with assertion that there comes my heartthrob.