Sunday, 16 October 2011

The three-way split

Restless, I peel off the layers
To excavate 
The three-way split
Of one self.

They who have passed
And they who will,
A future become memory already,
A past come alive,
And the present,
Seeking words
To hold onto to itself
Slipping like smooth muslin
Run through a gold ring.

You remember perhaps,
My deserted streets,
The secret hideaways,
A city revealed
In epiphanic moments.
The ancient time-worn monuments,
The plaintive tones of tombs and mosques
Old forts and new ritual sites
Will they remember us?
Or are they merely stained
Like a giant spittoon
With the excesses
Of the innumerable
Who have walked by?

Perhaps, our loves, our lives
Were not enough
To carve out
A name, worth remembrance,
It seems.

So I have dreamt up 
New gods, new myths and sites
To fill up 
This memory shrine.



                                                                               

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