Wednesday, July 13, 2011

S. K. Iyer

.
Failing words
.
bright impressions are swallowed by shadows
of lumpy patches of words; rhythm jerks
forward in a world where everything
is strangely familiar like this evening
which paints its own portrait on the horizon
everyday - a new face, new concepts, in new hues
.
and the poet fails as usual; yet he tries
to pick up scattered pieces of truth
from the bank of memory, blot the ripples
in the dust of silence and look for words
in the black sky touching the other side of the lake -
the words, which can change colours everyday, like evenings
.
,
,.

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