Schism

From the banks of nostalgia,
recedes a ripple of shadows
on the translucent, moss-green waters,

disfiguring the present from the time.

Forgetting is a skin-deep wound,
it takes a while to grasp what
has been crooning over the senses,

is not merely the whiff of sandalwood.

You begin to let your questions
astray on the beaten towpath,
that once charted you out.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s