Gist is the
Path
Lest, I rest

Dimpy

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Moonless night assembles

poised

Moonless night empowers

emptiness

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Metaphor


For just a sliver
of Moon veining the blue sky
breeds for Earth, a night

Amidst the dead night
April rain--a metaphor,
taps on the window

Windows hold stories
as mothers do in their wombs.
Rain changes meanings.

A single breath makes life.
Opening the window, sway
zephyrs, blind the flame

Forever,--in life
is as good as the last Moon
new dawn bereft, ebbs.

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Let us 'be'.
To Become is tedious.

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A set of flitting breaths
that's it, that's what makes me.

The intangibles
shape and mould
a story with each one breath
punctuating with etchings
a telling of me--same as you
a word here or a conjecture there
for a conjuring, called--life.

A story in continuum
till I'd all be a cellophane
bag full of sand.

Dimpy, they lovingly named
Bandeep it is, me the same
Light of forest as does the flame.

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The other
It is that always is
A smother.

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Promise--
Star dust realised
by yet breathing sand.

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Love.
Lust.

Ends.
Soot.

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The aching body feels not any pain
Your absence dwells in me,--a sweet gain.

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I didn't mean to demean
but, my empath vein leans
onto you to reveal to you
the 'mean' of your being.

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