In that spring of a season

days passed the equinox

When it wasn’t farce

to wear only one character


and the clattered egos felt

like needles, pricking my skin;

Yet slackened 






Cold, unspring-like

but as I recall,

we were weeks into spring

Life; then a folly

as I could testify

I felt feeding the fire

just like those closed pages

Of history, when cadence of words

cried almost mercilessly

Now I realised that,

if you live long;

nothing is surprising 









I remained recalcitrant

to even greater but dismissive

haunts of shame & impractical


Walls then truly had ears 






In that spring of a season

when I yet stood mute

Voluble words cried out,

periodically & were worth gold

Chests grew tighter,

bulbous but irregular

like a wisp of a grey curl

But that year;

knew no allegiance,

since it takes humility

to respect tradition

And how then can you properly

clean a room without moving

anything ? 











I called out kind words

like the darning in a sock

being intertwined

Advertently, foreign but noxious

grimaces began to bear me grudge

but it appeared peripheral

I then stood poignant;

like honeycakes left in the sun to dry

but the anonymous valedictory

agreed with me on best basis








For once,

I’m slackened, yet seeping with

unattuned confidence

to set the world alight

Slackened !


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