As a man approaches thirty he may
take stock of himself.
Not that anything important happens.
–
At thirty the mud will have settled:
you see yourself in a mirror.
Perhaps, refuse the image as yours.
–
Makes no difference, unless
you overtake yourself. Pause for breath.
Time gave you distance: you see little else.
–
You stir, and the mirror dissolves.
Experience doesn’t always make for knowledge:
you make the same mistakes.
–
Do the same things over again.
The woman you may have loved
you never married. These many years
–
you warmed yourself at her hands.
The luminous pebbles of her body
stayed your feet, else you had overflowed
–
the banks, never reached shore.
The sides of the river swell
with the least pressure of her toes.
–
All night your hand has rested
on her left breast.
In the morning when she is gone
–
you will be alone like the stone benches
in the park, and would have forgotten
her whispers in the noises of the city.
R. Parthasarthy
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