Dots….dots…dots
Lying here and there
The space is benevolent
Giving home unwantedly
Playing with them
A child would be doing alike
Arrange, one following the other
In a line, or sometimes, scattered
But, as wishes flow, more orderly
Giving a shape, sketching a face
Upon the wide canvas of space
A few dots…dots that were words,
Spoken, yet never heard
A few more that had bubbled
Yet never burst
A few dots….dots that were thoughts
Conceived, yet never shared
A few more that had grown enough
Yet, never saw the life sheltering
Gathering once again; picking up
One by one, laying one after the other
In a last attempt to sketch a face
Longed for so long
But, never emerged out of a life
Full of dots…dots…and dots.
Lying here and there
The space is benevolent
Giving home unwantedly
Playing with them
A child would be doing alike
Arrange, one following the other
In a line, or sometimes, scattered
But, as wishes flow, more orderly
Giving a shape, sketching a face
Upon the wide canvas of space
A few dots…dots that were words,
Spoken, yet never heard
A few more that had bubbled
Yet never burst
A few dots….dots that were thoughts
Conceived, yet never shared
A few more that had grown enough
Yet, never saw the life sheltering
Gathering once again; picking up
One by one, laying one after the other
In a last attempt to sketch a face
Longed for so long
But, never emerged out of a life
Full of dots…dots…and dots.
A few more that had bubbled
ReplyDeleteYet never burst
Beautiful. . . You Have a Nice and Safe Day. . . :)
Beautiful composition sir... This also makes me think... I personally used to love dots in a line and wishes flow orderly once... But with passing time I have started now liking the disarray... Of both dots and wishes... Don't know why... Yet to find the reason :)
ReplyDeleteThank you...dots do wonder...and dot may be a star as Joseph Brodsky wrote, "He was but a dot, and a dot was the star" stretching it to such a spiritual height...regards
DeleteA beautiful composition with speed and simplicity, interlaced with silence, the poem is intriguing and meditative. It reflects life’s umpteen possibilities that never see fulfillment. They are the dots, sparks of words, thoughts that flash into nothingness the moments they see the light of the day… they die imploding within trapped forever in the chasm of possibility and fulfillment. So are we. How many of us could sketch our lives with all the dots that buoyed in our mind and then vanished, forever, leaving no trace?
ReplyDeleteAmitjyoti, your critical appreciation of a poem, I am not referring to mine, but about all those of different poets we have discussed over, always touch the finer chords of the poem that bears the pain and pleasure of the poet...the dots are all and dots are nothing, only time defines what is what...what it aspires and what it becomes...what it says and what it hides....and what it sketches and where it erases...true, life is nothing but dots...dots...dots...
DeleteEncouragement from someone like you truly inspires me and makes me confident and comfortable in public domain...my best wishes