Into Silent Groves

Debacles of Destiny, ah … so many, so many
Lay before me.

… As I lay basking in the mornlight
Bathed lawn:
Crude, the lassitude of early born
Poignant dawn,
Lost in an ocean smeared with bright
Viscous clouds –
Oft in quietitude, thoughts the mind lone,
Ghastly shrouds.

The silent Groves waking, like mind mine in lethargy,
Not silently …

Crippling thoughts with lances
Crowd; on horsebacks they stand.
Shouts they, my ruined End,
Loudly … loudly –

Wind in the Groves waking; Oft then isn’t oft
But terrible.

… When sprouts to stay again in
Me, from somewhere less behind,
Like some playthings that unwind –
With loud drums and dreary din …
The wind’s worst remnants I find.
When comes to the half-slept mind,
Back, oft, dark dark reveries –
Rival Life’s young victories.

It is as though I’m the
Past written beforehand.
Easygoingnonsense
Read so easily –

– Was that when drunken dreams to the light
Were drained?
Where – how deep servitude of absence
Leads me unto –
Dreams those that on strained eyes of night
Haven’t rained.
What odd things, Solitude-the-Shrewd Mess
Turns me into –

Tentacles of Destiny, that … oh wind me, oh blind me
End, is it Me?

Posted by Akhil