When every tale
has been told
and every story unfolded
and folded back in on itself,
we will search for answers
within ourselves
and find them missing,
buried somewhere else
but without a treasure map;

From the shuttered concert hall
we still hear
the evocative lament
of Albinoni’s adagio;
From dog-eared postcards
we recall the late summers
when time swayed
beneath the palm fronds
and evenings gleamed
with faded opulence cast
from the sea-front hotel;

( Our story arc crumbled even then )

We remember those snatches
of hardboiled dialogue
we read in Chandler’s “Big Sleep”
one about the blind not getting to see
and in all the milliard refractions
in all of time,space and history,
we sign the confession presented to us
by an indifferent Inquisition.

1 thought on “Errata

  1. VijayNair

    Another time, another place! A lovely, evocative poem bringing together a sense of nostalgia, coupled with a sense of indifference.


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