OCTOGENARIANISM

A line for every path walked,

wrinkle for every twist of fate,

colour-shade for layers of being

and navigations that intersected

absorbed and was consumed

by navigation,

and the specks

the scars

markers on a cartography

of living and dying;

it is not the trace

or embroidery-reverse

of the ashta loka dharmaya,

but how mind, heart and sinew,

fingertip and fist,

tender gaze and angry eye,

doubt and finality

touched, caressed, banged against

got hurt and cooled

in the play

of joy

and sorrow,

profit-loss,

fame and ill-fame

and praise and blame.

Look.

It’s history

and a retelling

of an ancient tale

told and retold.

Read it; it’s your story.

[from the collection 'Stray kites on string-less days']

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