Twilight
In between right and wrong
falls the grey
The grey of many hues
Where dusk sets in
And birds flock home
To feed the little ones.
Or I snuggle
into my comfort zone
Or clandestine lovers meet
At the end of a blind alley
Grey comforts me
Like the fading memories of a childhood Sunday
Or a memorable midnight conversation with a dear friend.
In this absolutist world of human worth,
A desire to move beyond
the marketed brands of moral correctness
Or script languages beyond the parochial norms,
Who frames a path for me?
Not the caged road of the finite
Bound in its own limited-ness!
When I forge ahead
Along the path untrammelled,
footprints archive a new course
Or new discourses.
Death of Memories
Memories live.
Like touches,
some linger welcomed
some creep,
some sooth
some hurt.
They live,
clichéd filings in dossiers –
uncountable,
multi-labelled,
occupying mindscape;
clipped together
in cranial crevices.
When they die,
they are memories no more.
On the other side of Lethe
lies a white oblivion.