If In This Dilapidation Discover I Cannot

By Lipsa Lopamundra Giri

If in this dilapidation discover I cannot

I can manufacture another of some sort

Together the world looked toward Olympus

Forgetting for an instant all that separates us

No calls, though, through the clouds sequentially come

Sad indeed is the heart that surrenders at any hum

Clearly the woman had something to get off her mind

Why is it so that this is how our lives wind?

Calls, calls, no calls from the mind wise

Though, long ago, the Sun to the zenith began his rise

Blowing dust off the unkempt vases of brass

And clinging to the nearest floating grass

Forgetting that I have known this for a while now

My gaze fixed on the cudding of a brown cow

Musing on nothing in particular but one thing

That spins round and round and screams his being:

The same mistakes await those of us that are insane

And how that from the very start, it’d begun to wane

By Lipsa Lopamundra Giri