Pooja's Euology

16.02.2020

Empty quarters remind me of my own
Obsequiousness: a mote.
A firefly that got caught
In the ever growing labyrinth of causality,
A clot of matter that
Protects the shadows from the
Flare of the sun : usurper of the night.

There is so much space without,
So much noise within that squirms
To be released
And yet the safest place to hide one's
Blues is one's very skin.
I may be the universe to you,
But to these mountains I am but an echo
Of a forgotten sigh, and you could crumble the
Universe in my palms and it would
Still amount to a little more than
A missed note of a psalm.
Roll my name out of your tongue
Like you used to roll your
Apologies, when you've done wrong,

And pour me another cup of Darjeeling

My darling, as you unfold what
You just crumbled : does it matter if
You love me ?
Does it
Matter if I've loved you back,
In one of these infinite webs of
Possibilities, does it
Matter if we've both perished in each
Other's arms, does it matter if we've never
Met, and this poem never saw the light
Does it matter if we have forgotten
This moment, or we if we've skipped right to
The next ,never knowing what we've
Missed,
Would it make a difference if we've
Been stuck in a Mobius loop and never
Got to know what it's like
To get hurt ?