Wednesday, 27 July 2011
The kite floats —just severed—
In rhythm of kissing ends,
Of promises and dejections,
Of remembrances and forgetting,
Of reliance and betrayal,
Of pleasures and angst,
Buttressing with a small memory
Of a bonded past
Of an yearning for freedom
Of a passion to soar high
Of a pride to be in seclusion.
From a collection fraught with lies
From a society distressed in lust
From a quaint wholeness of wiles
From a perfect choir of vilification.
The kite floats leisurely
In swings of moist breeze
Before it meets the final descend
Far away from a faceless form of humanity—
A brimful deceit of mankind.
For years they have been there--stoically oblivious To the world slipping out of time--caged in the dungeon of Down-shelves in my library...
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