Unfamiliar Grounds

Broken clocks give me comfort

Helps me stop the time

A moment to think & fully relax

A moment to get my breath back

The place I'm in shaky

The tiles in the room wobbly

Afraid to take a wrong step now

And fall into the depths with greyhounds

The wind here has no direction

There's a dog who's lost his home

I belong in this place where I'm questioned

A place trapped by a dark dome

Walking through these plains and meadows

I see the birds a little differently

Long have they forgotten which side was the South

Circling around the abandoned farmhouse

All these things i seem to sympathize with

For I know the plight of feeling lost

Devoid of any certainties or any map to go with

This is me being unsure of my cost

Reviews

[M P Ramesh]

LAKSHMI,


THE SEARCH FOR SELF ALWAYS ENDS UP WITH A CREATION. IT IS BECAUSE OF THE FACT THAT WE ARE EVERYWHERE. MORE OVER WE ARE PART of that everything. The writer's choice is how and when to pick this up and fix it properly. The magic of creation is therefore his/her decision only. The oracle inside will dictate diction.In the end even he/she is aghast on the result. That is the joy. Uncertainity and loss and uneven ground are the biggest choices among them. The option to tread over them make the creator the challenge of questions and possible answers. So much so. But in reality the writer is not at all uanswerable to anybody or anything even the products of his creation.

carry on.....


M P Ramesh