My poetry (5)


So many words at a time
memory fails to retain the stories in fragments.

Stories begin and end.

Under the watchful eyes of the moon
people seldom fail to capture
the tattered wings of imagination
seeking release of emotions
in one way or the other.

The entire myth of a story always remains with only one fact
Where did it begin and where did it end.

A child
smeared with earth all over the body
makes a delightful sight;
the play so vividly evident in the dust
the child plunges so naturally
the earth too takes on the child
with equal emotion.

Age has the major disadvantage of
the knowledge of all myths
the plunge becomes a sordid affair.

Soft beds are needed to sleep on
the big belly makes the bending forward
or crouching on  the earth a torment.

The wings have already vanished
the desire is however there to fly like a bird;
not a speck of earth beneath one’s feet
the wish is retained more to carry on the sentiment.

Man regrets nothing
not even the disappearance of the moon from the bungalows;
the creaking of doors compel nothing at all
the intruder feels the punishment inside.

Words are spoken only in fragments.
No stories told
nor any listened.

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