When tension grips and the head reels
In its ever accelerated twirl
When two rays dangle from two flayed poles,
And the dumb loss of a moment’s truth
Looks so conspicuous and an eminently
Forgettable lapse of an inoffensive world
When the gentle genre to which the slamming
Of an ever open door in the face of
The rare perspicacity and purpose shown
By a soul, a land and a generation belongs
Looks so commonplace; when the benign
Visitor’s countenance does indeed despair
And crave a black visor above the originality
Of its expansiveness and the staggering degradation
Of its vitality; I have this great ache’s abundance
Stirring in my cupped palms, held out in supplication,
Till it rests, for an ever lasting understanding
Ever in the vision, ever into its aftermath.
And when an hour’s trial and a moment’s judgement
Bide time in the halls of eternity
I get this call upon me to my concept’s elucidation
And this urge to its sound espousal
But in a brief and breathless pass upon a syllable
When I catch the trail left of a wayward home coming
I find eunuchs elucidating emancipation’s final flowering
In its lone path of glory.
And for once I lose my heart, I lose my sensibilities
The stupendous reversal of a progression of faith
Finally does catch up with me
Annulling this reckless gambler’s momentary wins
But who is now going to pay up its hefty price
And take home the horrid truth.
By: S.Jagathsimhan Nair
17 May 12
For: Elliott Bowe's" Drunken pen"
Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2012
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