Sunday, 29 September 2013

DYING SUN




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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