|
Slipstream |
Sit with me, silent and still
And think,
Of the ragged, uneven yellow teeth of time
As they tore into our flesh of our past
Like wolves, slavering
And our thoughts spilled out like gangly spiders
And then congealed, and became as still as tired old men
Nestled in their chairs
Waiting for death
How did I not see you change
And turn into something else
And me, gasping for breath
All in the wake of the slipstream of your eagerness
to be someone else
copyright 2013
Shibani
Chattopadhyay |
