a tablet of time
broken-
no one can break the aeons
they move so fast
in a blink.
here the tablet lies in debris
the moments already passed
into eternity
I see the dates
(a day of masquerades?)
I bury myself under the tablet,
into the debris,
fall asleep, with time
I don't need any other lover
velvety soft,
the delicate petals
tender gentleness
into our being,
the subtle scent
touches our soul
its wholeness
fires our love
we sing paeans to it
yet the rose hides its pain
behind the masks of thorns
and I wonder why
Sunday Scribblings prompt is about masks...real or imaginary ones. A villanelle pertaining to that.
Emergence
Thin line between reality & fantasy is gone,
falsehood crumbles under its own weight.
Out of the debris, something new is born.
Pervading peace resounds and withdrawn
as the consequences of pragmatic debate.
Thin line between reality & fantasy is gone
taking nightmares away in that new dawn.
Life long embedded fears slowly abate-
out of the debris, something new is born.
Drawing out a conclusion taken foregone-
stripping off mask to be with its soul mate,
thin line between reality & fantasy is gone.
With effort, comes the will power to go on,
shunning all that deemed normal till date.
Out of the debris, something new is born,
freshness of it all does not let mourn
slipping of façade, which was way too late.
Thin line between reality & fantasy is gone
out of the debris, something new is born.
Click for more masks...
