If you see the wistful blue in a cloistered frozen frame,
Seeking the dome of a seagull’s path
You have seen the foundering life-
Beneath marble perfection.
It takes a wound to find the flaw
evidence of an imprisoned life,
Taciturn love in pristine gloss
Yearning for a salvation.
The Taj is hawked in gimcrack stalls
Immortal love on macabre sale
Antique in some lonesome parlour
Drooping lotus in a canker tale.
If you see the kohled lash dewy
by the frothy flaccid flow
of Yamuna, then you have seen
Life’s lust for liberation.