I live in the night to feel the insight
of a profoundly incandescent inner light
where the substance of ether comes round in flight
a plasmic memory glues to mind like a beauteous respite
I believe destiny has its own way of giving your sacrifice its requite
And past is a photorealism, it comes in cinematic rheo and rhyme
Like there is no stopping the reverse flow of time
in a reality of dreams where everything becomes apparent
and the eventide itself feels like a glorious advent
You may as well understand the vision of Janus
in the imagery of salient love manifesting from the temple’s Omphalos,
where perception is like a protection to past, present and future; as if it were your omnibus!
This is no evanescent night, no prelude, no requiem, but a hymnal perpetuity
that lives at the back of memory, and clothes the subconscious intelligence
were it to take us all to the mutuality of each of our desired ends
And yet, the ends are beginnings in the continuum of the rendition a Universe rents
I choose to pick up all the pieces of memory like a jigsaw of verses
Their fragments are not ephemeral chimera but long-staying animated mementos
I am prudent not to want to live in a blockhouse like fearsome men
If prudence is wont to restrain violence like my country (India) that sustained relentless invasions
and found its identity in a posterity, even after divisions, through mighty patience!
Dad, aren’t we just like this – bounded, but with fractal incidence
You know how subjugation at the hands of evil cannot blind providence
Such faith and belief does not have to subsist on evidence!
And even if I am tethered, now, I am not weathered, I am not shattered!
There is a sustenance in patient love that sees the narrow tortuous roads bettered!
Dad you will always be my Dad and son, which is a dictum, by the universe, golden-lettered!
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