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Poetic T May 2018
Our flutes still silently sit there,
reflections engraved within those
                           precious moments.

Sullen clouds linger before us,
                  tears filling an ocean,
now falling like a waterfall of regrets.

That flower, a plastic representation.
You never wished it to fade, like our
love, continual and never wilting.

Within our leaving, fate tore us apart.
             leaving that moment, echoes of
our reflections entombed still holding on.
Adithya Gowda Oct 2014
Bathed in silver moonlight,
Falsely reassured by unwavering stillness,
My eyes open to a place left behind,
Where I lie gurgling; uncomprehending.
Where my infancy fell and I learned to walk.
And I watch now, curiously; uncomprehending
The scene that forms in my eyes.

Adolescence is seen stealing the previous throne
With bribes of new emotion and mischief
And flows into my entire childhood
A river come under rule of the sea.
And I watch uncomprehending; distant from
The boy that once climbed trees.

Trees wither as Autumn comes; shed leaves
And I drift through space and time
Not watching the clock; free.
The young adult is in a palace of smoke
Wandering through echoing halls
Trying to reach the throne.
The sea.

And when the doors open, debility
Comes creeping; hair white as the snow, beneath my feet.
I see shattered limbs running away
From demons underneath.

The present tugs at me; my worried spouse.
And away I go, from the newborn; ignorant,
Watching day and night embrace; two halves of one
Locked in a dying embrace, afraid to let go

And even now, mortality
An essential nightmare still grips me; a devious fiend
Hiding behind the impassive, unyielding
Father time.

— The End —