Elegy of another sort
Thus she was taken away from me,
snatched in ultimate violation,
under a white cotton sheet.
Taken away the years, the moon,
the words that danced between us
and all that is scrubbed and shined.
Human condition, my mother used to say;
Sunt lacrimae rerum – who, Virgil?
Ovid or Catallus? Or some old shadow on the wall
only to brighten a dark meditation.
For me, a long day and eyes
as parched as the desert fissures.
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Comments about this poem (Elegy of another sort by Jay Kasturi )
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