In your town I search,
not seeking visitations,
of the divine
Not for me the corpus of maudlin and hymen.
or scores lost in meandering intent.
there’s you somewhere,
in the oxygen that I breathe.
Somewhere in the hairclips that tie disparate strands
in airy weaves and raised flags,
In long ago defeat.
somewhere in the roaming of the mind
around the bends in the head,
somewhere in the rusted edges of your contempt are shrugs which begin from eyes that have already reshaped history;
Entwined in it cobwebs stretched out
from long ago.
I’m in your town
and I seek a glimpse.
I’ll never find.
Rony Nair works as an oil and gas Risk Management consultant. He is also a professional photographer about to hold his first major exhibition and has previously been published by many magazines and periodicals.Rony has also featured in the Economic Times of India. Larkin’s’ collected poems would be the one book he would like to die with. When the poems perish. As do the thoughts!