My Grief
How fickle is my fissured grief
In the immensity of the space
Where often it overflows
Overwhelming my sadness.
People come and go
With pomp and trumpetery
But then depart into a vacant
Without leaving even a shadow.
If I was only a construct
Of the geometry of the space
Dreaming up a new frontier
In crude pathways to chalk
With poetics of my own at stake.
Losing ingrained silted
Concepts of inner necessity
A triad of poem to combat
Imagination of the mind
Destined perhaps for novel start.
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