Infatuation and imagination don’t squander any scanty breaths,
To the judgement of love and death’s superiority on the Earth-
Even though our life may be pinched and dry,
Like the cranberry in Summer since our birth!
The leafless trees in Winter watch the sky,
And feel a shiver from the strong arctic air-
While the huddled pigeons look for a romance,
And wag their tails to attract the mates to stare!
Out in the horizon’s wide-open lonely place,
If ever any footstep is heard, it will be mine-
And a silence among brittle imagination
Will whisper behind, to make me shine!
Rickety breathes of Autumn flutes, lonely as death,
Reverberate only a subdued loneliness with a chill-
And I, as an old passerby, with a sigh, day after day,
Keep my ears closely on the emanating noise to kill!
The remote arena on the Babylon where I thrive,
Assembles my imagination in the age- old quill-
And feeds the rhymes with hymns, at times,
Though no one sees them now or ever will!
Pictures with my unfading evergreen looks gaze out
Upon my fading life, month by month, year by year-
And my brittle imagination remotely paints to un-code
The footprints I leave behind with a somnolent cheer!!
“Milestone”
June 7, 2021
© Copyright June 7, 2021 by Hillol Ray
Comments »
No comments yet.
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL
Leave a comment