Broken Is My Tryst With Words

Some time I read an old poem, Brought back to me by some Poet friend's comment, And wonder, did I write this! ! More than being lost to the outside world, The poems have departed from my own memory Flying high upon a rhythmic swing Their words are beyond my reach. In my sleep I sense myself Searching for some conscious Conversation of the day just gone by— Like a thirsty walker stumbling upon sand Or a ship being pulled through shallow waters. The richness of the day And serenity of the night Imprisoned in the static silence Of a strange world. Banging on those closed doors of memory Neither awake nor asleep Unable to reclaim what once was mine, I simply nurse my inertia. Broken is my tryst with words! Silvery beams in scattered hair- What shines upon me? The sky is moonless! Savita Tyagi 9.20.2020