National Poem Writing Month ’22: 10. Void of the Infinity

One by one it’s few of us.

Let the witness for the union be the ancient trees and their spring leaves; the yaksha and the monsters of the fairy tale; the green of the land where unicorn graze; the dawn fragranced by the musk of the Kashmiri deer; the turn of the day colored red of the vermilion on your forehead.

One by one it’s few of us.

The madness we embarked on was not unnoticed. I was in search of infinity and you in search of the end of void. Into the undefined we travelled to looked into each other, flowing against the upriver limbo. Exploring the crevices and the gorges, life gifted us then, on the path.

One by one it’s few of us.

Very few realized they’re living the life they wished for, they longed for. The unfinished manuscript carries us as a character the one we know of. The portrait of whom can be drawn arranging the crowd of stars.

One by one it’s few of us.

The time smeared the past and present. The clock had stopped long ago when your slippers hit it smashing it to the untidy floor and revealing the aged-dust circle on the wall. Later I ruminate, and conclude, its just like the fair back of yours, sweaty and damp.

One by one it’s few of us.

The pages are turned to the last. The book has been returned for another one. We become a new we in another book. The void and the infinity play in the hollow of our shadows. Life went on abide by the law, as it should be. One by one we turn to two after turning one and then few more ones.

One by one it’s few of us.

When the old age appear on the threshold, sitting in some chair by the window you’ll took up the book that’s left incomplete just we want to. Not to depart but to write a new one. I can imagine looking in the broken shards of the clock.

One by one it’s few of us standing on the bank of the void of the infinity.

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