A Life Poem by RAJ VIKRAM

A life.

In the dessicated pages
of life I struggled to find
intelligible words or thoughts
to coalesce together that
rather abstract notion that's me.

In the deserted alleys of
my fading memories I
yearned to cobble together
bits and pieces to erect
a monument of despair.

Gobbling up these dry
moments with perfunctory
raptness I try to gouge out
the pervading prescience
of the impending doom.

This last page extends
interminably or rather my
words dry up the moment
they are written and may
be that's veiled immortality.

Intangibles mushroom around
and the indefinite thrives as
I stand shorn of all pretensions
of right, wrong and the neutral.
Like a unique mendicant.

The book of a life unlived,
a tale of promise untold.
A procession of inanities
that extend from the infinite
past to the indefinite eventual.











A life.

In the dessicated pages
of life I struggled to find
intelligible words or thoughts
to coalesce together that
rather abstract notion that's me.

In the deserted alleys of
my fading memories I
yearned to cobble together
bits and pieces to erect
a monument of despair.

Gobbling up these dry
moments with perfunctory
raptness I try to gouge out
the pervading prescience
of the impending doom.

This last page extends
interminably or rather my
words dry up the moment
they are written and may
be that's veiled immortality.

Intangibles mushroom around
and the indefinite thrives as
I stand shorn of all pretensions
of right, wrong and the neutral.
Like a unique mendicant.

The book of a life unlived,
a tale of promise untold.
A procession of inanities
that extend from the infinite
past to the indefinite eventual.