By Suresh G
All set to go, one only forgets.
Hearts aflutter with clay-pigeons.
In a moment’s breath and poise,
the glimpse of beauty is a night of fear.
Hearts aflutter with clay-pigeons
unseen, none keen to set eyes on.
The glimpse of beauty is a night of fear
for he who looks by looking away.
Unseen, none keen to set eyes on
the landscape of memory and tears.
For he who looks by looking away,
time, a white flower, changes to crimson.
In the landscape of memory and tears,
the slept sea, for instance, aquiver.
Time, a white flower, changes to crimson.
It’s not the other you battle, it’s you.
The slept sea, for instance, aquiver.
Isn’t something else ripe to move?
Yes, it’s not the other you battle, it’s you -
a fruit on the yellow edge of falling.
Isn’t something else ripe to move?
In a moment’s breath and poise,
a fruit on the yellow edge of falling.
All set to go, one only forgets.