Glued never to the sway of pendulum,
Travels parallel back & forth;
Imaginations nixed Not of whose,
Eyes, apprehending the rise & fall discourse.
There may be an intent to steal,
To play symphony in bygone shows;
There may be an intent to know,
Of missing keys of unopened doors.
Colours on walls eclipses contemporary,
As no scoreboard to measure score;
Sewing narrations of broken stories,
That make a collage of undefined roles.
There these chasms in time,
Natural ain’t but ersatz more;
And amidst all morsels unearthed,
Stands (s)he who it adores.😇
© Pranav Chaturvedi 2022