A Death Foretold

It’s time
To stop talking
About shores,
Sunlight dancing on
Erratic waves,
The flowers, their
Enigmatic fragrance
The moon, and
Its romantic legacy,
Even the roads
Winding and branching
Vanishing figures
Over the illusive horizons…

Tomorrow
When the sun rises
Everything will be
Frankly, the same
Some idiot will see
It all anew
And will want to share
The connection
Marrying the outer
With the inner
Predictably with
Immaculate words

And some
Will resort to
Cats and dogs
Mongrel or otherwise
Whining or biting
At life
The indifferent life
Which never bleeds
Like us

Our nerves are always raw
Someone or the other
Will touch them
Today or tomorrow

But the futility
Of it all
Will strike us too
One day
Then
Poetry
Will die
An unglorious death

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14 thoughts on “A Death Foretold

  1. prat says:

    “..Some idiot will see
    It all anew..”
    Idiots all, I sometimes say.
    I loved the irony in this one, and yet I know the fine balance there is.

  2. asuph says:

    enig: thanks for your comments. there is no easy way, yes…

    re tarkash, you know even the title seems untranslatable to me. the words in one language have this — what is called “pot” (with a soft t, as in amit — or amith) in marathi which i can only translate into — poise, for the lack of better word… anyways

    prat: thanks for the perceptive comment.

  3. Sigma says:

    The link to this poem was given to me by a blogger friend. This is a wonderful poem – portraying the sad reality behind a perception of beauty. Really Commendable.

    Other reasons my friend forwarded this particular link:
    – I have recently read Tarqash, and did few posts on it [which are more or less, a collection of my favorite lines in the book]
    – I write poetry sometimes, and I have attempted translating poems – mine, as well as those of friends – from hindi to english

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