Selected by Poetry.com among 33 Special Pieces of Art
Memorobilias
I stood atop a lean tower
reaching up in to the early morning sky,
and yet I couldn’t through the haze
reach those images I had loved.
I tore my poems to
shreds
and let them fly
at will:
Bring back to me
the news of those longings I have lost.
They wafted away
drifting with the wind,
looking for:
dreams of my youth;
castles I built in the air,
women of porcelain,
cracked wishbones that had held out a lure.
Into the ash-gold of the sunset, I peered
with no news from none of them.
Maybe they found my
castle,
too beautiful
to leave behind,
or, perhaps that woman
still pines
as they wipe away her tears,
could it be that they too are lost,
cannot find their way
and are in search of a
wishbone
to reach them back to
me.
- SK Chatterji
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