Shrunk
Around my father’s frames
Unanswered questions cling.
At night, in silence, they bring out their tapes
And plug in their scales
To shape their reports of withdrawal and loss
Which linger as shadows without end.
Even in the absence of strands of light
They pile upon beds as unpaid dues
And stab at my skin from all sides.
Bruised, I wake and look into the glass
And shrink with each passing night.
Telemachus Redivivus
His was a far wider world
Peopled with networks of far reaching goals
With anchors in uncounted hearts.
I, a recluse, with few valid friends
Never really moored in any of his isles
And only paid homage with indirect routes
That long have lost lustre and gloss.
So all of those words which he sang in my praise
As he led me to halls of mighty and great
Now seem as tattered as paint on our walls
And rust in a corner, unkempt.
And even as he beams from his picture on high
On corners of his lips I trace
Such little pixels of unfulfilled hope
That only my eyes can sense.
Rewind
Long have I grappled with his loss
Tangled in all five stages of grief
Without any definitive end.
A random rewind, and there still reigns
His rich broad smile, with brightness in eyes
And that ever so gentle arm on my back
Tougher than all tempests I faced.
And yet amidst that,
Like superimposed stain
Intrude those images of a frail old man
Curled in a ball of his waste;
Or perhaps ravings of despair or rage
When he bawled as an alien disguised.
Inconstant memories now bicker and clash
And leave my inheritance in doubt.
Plato's Caves online 