Shreds Of A Corner Where The Dead Meet

streets full of junk and untraceable regrets
With unknowingly aimless and unforgettably hungry pilgrims roaming about-
Spouting loud early chants on their tongues which they themselves can no longer comprehend
Irresponsible givings and of careless offerings-
What temperament is it that this wind speaks of
What scathing hands has this heat have got

While It pours down
As we can only stand here on two sides of this street of dejection
It pours down hard-
You block my reason, while you as surely think that I block yours-
Sharp as it is this rain, it cuts down in many
From here to there, from me to you-

And we can only look at each other obliquely
While it is this mixture on the ground
Of reactive soil and this cutting rain

And we will not know outcomes from intentions
As we will try to come to terms with our pasts
And it will be this temperament that will glide over us
Kill us before we identify ourselves

For this pain has outlived us-

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Comments (2)

A nice poetic imagination, Kulkarni. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks.
The pain of existence has been deftly presented. Thought provoking nice poem.10