House On A Cliff
Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp.
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind.
Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.
Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren.
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster.
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.
Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing.
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.
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