Sunday, January 23, 2011


To throw a stone at a strident ripple
With eyes closed and a voice crippled
With the renegade joys of a childhood lost
In the turbid, eager eyes of grown-up jaunts,

Is to hold an umbrella to the twilight sun
And revel in some quixotic virtuous norm,
Pretending what has been is never wrong

But to kindle a candle, one needs the wick to burn…

So the twilight will phase into a night
And candles will burn, and fluorescent lights…
One drop of moon in the ripples of water
In a majestic silver mermaid, will shudder

When the sojourn of the stone will strike...

The ripples will remain, gather and froth
And the ignominy of moon shall stay to spurn…
The night shall change to a new daybreak
And the sojourns of stones shall return….

And sink to the abyss beyond the drop of moon.

But ripples,we still ripple on...

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