Absenting Poem by Procyon Mukherjee

I was filling from coffers to pallets
Spilling them
Like a slur in a legato
That had no rite of passage

It must be part to be whole
Or whole to be part, no voids
Even a single note, enough to fill a symphony
Of Conduct

Filling up spaces is what took me so long
To reach the voids of substance
Being present in every minute
Left me absenting for years

The hermit was silent under the tree
It never chose a word to say
It never thought
It never spilled