All through this
silent gossip
I learnt
the wayfarer step
I went
Where my
steps would tread
I was of body then
When I was done
with all my thoughts
neither of the both
took perchance over me
I was freed
of my burden, bodiless;
I drew nothing of the sort
which I would call not my own
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An ethereal poetic foray into the existential.
So much thanks dear Sir Louis Kasatkin.
A well-crafted, brilliantly enigmatic poem.
So much thanks dear Sir Vijay Nair Jee.
A pithy poem …
‘which I would call not my own’…leaves much to ponder on
So much thank for thy apt comments respected Pushmaotee Subrun Jee. Regards.