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
Copyright © Anant Dhavale
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