Poetry

The Aged Muse

Playing on my foggy corneas

through the wooden eyes

her white bristles dipped in blue

delineating pours upon those dried streams

I, unaware of my birth flow and thus, my choice to know.

For a second say ‘milli’

my cell in a still with her road

as I am the bitten tongue in a Choco duality

and then, my hand waving to an empty screen.

It’s not showing six anymore

The alignment of old and new, that we both wish.

No worries, for now

the screen is watermarked

You shall exist for another twenty four.

Then I too shall acquire the ‘one day older’

I shall walk with you

My ‘old’ shall replace yours.

                                                          ~Daipayan Nair

                                                            Silchar, Assam

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