A Poem That Just Be
A Aniruddha Pathak
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One day I wish my pen's fruit
Ripens— a poem all mute,
And silent like engraved stone,
Layers of moss where get grown;
And singing still like a lute;
A poem painted with words,
Mute still like a flight of birds,
Poem not frozen in time,
In commune, as if in mime,
And a poem rather brief,
Baring no more, a fig-leaf,
One that'd mean to me so much,
It would just be— be as such.
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Musings | 08.08.2017 |
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