Friday, August 19, 2016


And then, at times, you find yourself
Placing the time pieces
And you smile for a while
But oftentimes you find pieces right there
Staring at you
Daring you to do or undo
What’s been done with you
And the days dash to their ends
And the nights mutate into dawns 
And before you could gasp
To gasp for breath
You hit a ditch
Out of which you labor to pull your weight
Off the grime of the evening
And strain to walk
Against flat land
Using ropes and pegs
Placed by ancient and fresh climbers
On the canvas of time
And on the brink of space
All you do is sweat  
To avert small rock and avalanche
Gosh, is this what's it's all about?
In my tender years I was told
You'll clear the plots 
And place only furnishings 
Of your own choice
And you'll walk straight
To the no-man's land
Where your mind
Draws the maps
Designs the universe
Sets it in order 
And hoists an orderly fence
And you will lead a full life
With no closure or anguish in sight…
On third thoughts though
It will be wise to surmise
That the final draft
The author plots
Will prevail at all costs.

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