afternoon white turns into
a scattered blue, as the river serpent
finds its way through the ivory
flowers with sun-streaked stalks
hitherto complimenting the nature
of light that dozes off at an arm’s length
of my view,
heaviness is registered in this light’s
movement through the verisimilitude
of other monochrome lights, of the changed
hues, with the galaxies of visitors, remarking
on its bathed reverence.
the marble captures
the after-fluorescent impact
in its tiled capsules as an exploration
of the history of gravity’s hold over
the dead bodies and their afterthoughts,
for that marks the beginning of the ending,
the universe that gathers many lights and holes
to fill them in,
unentangled, they curve like a day-
old bouquet of thoughts,
time shifts its melodies in the continuum
of this apprehensive physical
communication —
the lights turn the pallor
of shadow, becoming one of its own,
one not to be afraid of,
not knowing why
the grave situation
beckons their control.
.
© Anmol Arora 2018
Finally got to visit the iconic Taj yesterday — it was a less than satisfactory experience. Still, the beauty of this monolith is unparalleled, perhaps deriving so much from both its physical features as well as the sum total of its histories and legends. The above is a snapshot from the opposite bank unable to capture every changing color as the sun that was harsh all day long receded to nothingness — the singular moment when time and space became their own solace. And thus, this evening lament for all things be.
For With Real Toads’ Physics with Bjorn. Also linking it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.
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