Comments about T.P. Vinod
An Earthly Brief Chronology Of Love
In the dark blood of winter night
was floating your eyes,
when you translated it as
the shortest distance from woman to man
in which metaphors and meanings
can traverse through.
In the rusted light of summer noon
was sinking my sighs,
when I meditated it as
the temperature at which
all droplets of time for a man will freeze.
In the unperturded silence of autumn dawn
was dissolving our words,
when we pronounced it as
the solitude of one invaded by the other.
In a complexly simple dusk of spring
may fade out our memories,