Ananta Madhavan


Beneath The Surface


Beneath the surface of the wayward thought
The mystery of meaning starts
And gathers words with half an eye on chance,
Losing the mystery at once.

Coldly the sentences are printed and
Coldly the pinioned clauses end;
There are no words to say the things I want
So much to say and can't.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 04, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, February 05, 2014
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Written in London,1972

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