Now that it has begun
How painful it was
As though in a circle
Of sound
There was a faint flush of tears
Footsteps lost the altitude in staircase
On one level, the unerring truth of sharp knife pressed in and the stain erased in a breathing world
Yet far behind the blank wall
Someone did dredge up memories
Pallid and grotesque
Looking at the glass window
The starry night
Silent and still,
Burdened with mystery and milky ways
Told more than you could tell
An interesting poem.
Suffused with Freudian overtones ,this has the ineffable quality of film-noir about it.
Thanks Louis and Vineetha for your kind words.