This is where we should fall
On high ground bristling with grass
And other things – beating
Wings in the dark
Too much to hold – and too little to not
There’s a soft glitter here
Whispering. Crashing.
Splintered wood and stone
Rippled in dense memories.
Craving and breaking and reaching.
Like us. Bound to the dust.
Bound to nothing. And everything.
Swirling together and lifting in the gale.
Where the thunderstorm rises dark and wild and free
Over the horizon
Something threatens. To begin.
Or to end.
This is where we should fall.
6 comments:
this makes me very sad.
i dont know why.
come back to calcutta.
you took all the fairy tales away with you.
i shall come back for a whole two months on the 25th of april night...:)
I didn't know you were blogging again. I'm so glad. This is where we should fall . . it sort of echoes like footsteps fading into the distance.
'whispering, crashing'
'rippled in dense memories'
beautiful,
a reality which is still unappealing to the mind, yet beautiful..
'whispering, crashing'
'rippled in dense memories'
beautiful,
a reality which is still unappealing to the mind, yet beautiful..
Lovely.
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