Familiar voices blur
and dissolve
In the cauldron of time.
Distant and Distorted
the fumes rise
and metamorphose into
Animals with Masks.
Pull them off! Rip them!
Expose their naked monstrous faces
They run for cover.
One old witch
predicts success
Another fame
And a third- fortune
I lose myself
in the past and the future;
the present- a suspended moment
That does not exist.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish