A Ruined Walk

The walls of the old fort are cracked.  Nearby,

shabby remains of lost empires lie scattered

here and there.  By the broken marble fountain

a forlorn crow, with ragged wings,

painfully caws.  This was the royal bath:

in another language a beautiful sound.

From caged centuries within, muslin curtains part;

the polished stone quickens to amorous footfalls;

in the trilling water, bubbles of laughter dissolve...


The famished evening wraps me in

its dark, withered claws.  Once more

these restless stones, troubled ancestors,

possess me with some unknown resolve.


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  Copyright © 2005 - Makarand Paranjape