What was it?
What was that thing
that danced all over keyboards
leaving paw prints in rainbow colours,
what was it that spoke
of a heretic being stoned
and roses so soft
they cut glass?
What did rasakinda extract
in an absurd wrapping of heart?
What was that time
which passed as fragrance and syllable
in a cosmic synethesia —
a strain unnamed
on account of rarity
and dismissed
as the mere ramblings
of a lunatic
miseducated and lost
in territories too barren to map?
What ? Why ? it may necessarily not you .But reactions of "pain body" within yourself .So forgive for your self as well as others.Lets move on.
ReplyDeleteThis poem somehow reminded me of this, written by you - one of my favourites. Found it today in my facebook page.
ReplyDeleteAnd of certain leaves
it can be said
that one side shines
and the other coarse
one pleases eye,
the other too dull to note
one to touch, the other to forget
one for the mirroring of smile
and the other for spider-web ,
and time and wind
whisper and love,
dust-coat and benevolence
decree:
these un-identical twins
were born conjoined
in the hip of truth
and thus too will they perish.
- Malinda Seneviratne