Sarala Ram Kamal

The incomplete-book of my life
Lost its fair colour; the cheeks
Of the pages acquired
A sunset dusty hue
Silence kissed away all words
from some pages -
As if they were always
Empty; and others lost too
Major parts of their content;
Faded and partly-faded letters.
The seasons
Hide among the pages
Now. Torn fringes and
Loose spine; an over-used
Book. I don’t intend to
Re-write the pages. I
Am out here, somewhere!
Here – there – somewhere!
I wander – there are rainbows
Autumn-leaves and rain
Mist and meadows
I am no more a part
Of it – we parted;
A divorce between
“The static” and “The dynamic”.
There won’t be any Palimpsest,

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