M.D DINESH NAIR
THE ARROW SHOT WITHOUT AN ARCHER
I take my sharpest arrow of a good season
And then shoot it from my bow of a finer reason
But it hits none or nothing anywhere.
My arrow boomerangs on me, pierces across my flesh and I lie bleeding
And my bow sighs and sighs and lies near my semi-corpse
Waiting for perhaps a better archer still.
As the last breath of mine pulls me out
Of this world with fading objects of all seasons
My reason resurrects and stands on a hill alone!
My arrow turns into a half of me then,
Shoots off from the bow of my other half!
And this time it hits someone or something.
Time will tell my tale one day
Nay, the tale of an arrow and bow
That never needed an archer like me!
But the mystery will ever remain as to how and
Why my arrow boomeranged on me at all?
And time may point its finger at the ghost of an image much known!
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