Tuesday, February 7, 2023

A poem

 Now this calm, now this tumult

how we’ve closed these circles - a lapse,

a gossamer of things gone, things to be 


When old age strikes, and we wince and writhe in pain, what would these loves mean then? Broken statuettes of yore. Faded artifacts from another time.


Guilt hangs from the gilded gates - 

years recounted, faces rehashed 

This, here is how looking back looks like 


-


Anant Dhavale

No comments:

Post a Comment

Featured Post

A million years

A million years On whose shoulders perches the Eagle? Who mourns through gusts of the eastern rushing winds? A boy who grew up in dullne...