another one to miss

 The winter sunset settles down 

with smells of disordered papers in a dusty room .

Soft voice and small laughter
between leaves and rushing feet .

What images come back ,
go back
Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a breeze
a breath of plum , and the monsoon fog
Dissolved in place .

What is this face? ,less bare and barer
The pulsate in the arm, less strong and stronger
Shared or taken? more remote than the stars and closer than the eye.

I have trodden the doors alone
And I know ,
That it is hard to be really of use ,resigning .

Under sleep where all the waters meet .
We are thankful when the day ends, when the play finishes and bliss is too much pain .

I have made this , I have forgotten
and remember
this severing gasp in air ,
and the image rotten .

Between one noon and another December
this form, this face, this life , like death .

With silence I preserve this respectful distance
for I perceive
The Observer . The Stranger . That Celebrated unfamiliar face .
He who has seen
Who sees what is to happen .
The Spectator. The Censor . This Stranger... again
In whom the lost is reborn .

On this frozen ground , there shall be a solitary cigarette for two men
For whom two women shall share
On this ground,
Our demise
May not be mentioned in ‘the herald’.

The river still flows , the seasons are there to turn
The sparrows and kites have no time to waste .

Whatever time it is ?, I smile at my own plight of being trapped by the noose of desires
Wisdom against youth .
There being nothing besides the self , how could there be any desire at all?
Yet ,I was trapped .

She is an untamed river
There is no beginning , no movement , no stillness and no end
We assemble the meaning
A job for each -
Each one to his work of wonders in the same dusty rooms of delicacy