It slipped out from my lung, like the fairest from the queen,

Rushed up my choking throat, and gently out of me;

And rested its person upon the sea of breaths,

Which flew it far and wide, over capricious life and death.

 

By a dingy corner, where passion pumped tears

In a lonely lover, lost in selfish fears,

It felt the heavy vapour drowning him in grief;

But it pushed through ahead, out of there, relieved.

 

Trapped it was in a misty twirl of gust,

And rapped against shut panes, thick with icy dust;

But as a ragged lad, with arms thrown open wide,

Relished it in the breeze, it escaped to a side.

 

Then it drifted steadily into majestic town

And brushed against silky, lavish suits and gowns;

Almost burnt itself down in drunken sighs of sorrow

Of people wearing faces, gnawed at by hollows.

 

Out into the graveyard, by a desolate heath,

Nimbly in respect it cartwheeled ‘round the wreaths;

And bathed in the wine of the breaths released,

As that eternal tune played bitter, sweet, bitter, sweet.

 

But with travel so wide, and experiences galore,

It could not still parry the soul of the sore;

Stuck in my gasp like a diamond in the mud,

It filtered through my lungs down to my blood.

 

Tanmay Sinha

Advertisements