How does it matter
I remember or forget
the nights or lights
that stand still
in the dense fog
nothing visible
nor audible
the thundering planes
touch the ground:
it’s all game
of guess and vague
everyone
everything
even the tick
of the clock
this freezing hour
redolent of
crumbling echoes
I can’t divine vision
or loom up certainty
to mock follies
of dying sun
--R.K. SINGH, India
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