About a year has passed. I've returned to the place of the battle,
to its birds that have learned their unfolding of wings
from a subtle
lift of a surprised eyebrow, or perhaps from a razor blade
- wings, now the shade of early twilight, now of state
Now the place is abuzz with trading
in your ankles's remnants, bronzes
of sunburnt breastplates, dying laughter, bruises,
rumors of fresh reserves, memories of high treason,
laundered banners with imprints of the many
who since have risen.
All's overgrown with people. A ruin's a rather stubborn
architectural style. And the hearts's distinction
from a pitch-black cavern
isn't that great; not great enough to fear
that we may collide again like blind eggs somewhere.
At sunrise, when nobody stares at one's face, I often,
set out on foot to a monument cast in molten
lengthy bad dreams. And it says on the plinth "commander
in chief." But it reads "in grief," or "in brief,"
or "in going under."
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Comments about this poem (Elegy by Joseph Brodsky )
- ANGER, ging taping
- Draw me in your heart, Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip
- The thirst is a thorn., Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Simple toys, hasmukh amathalal
- Acquaintance across the gender, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Begining of my love, Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip
- What is all truth, Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip
- Let all people, hasmukh amathalal
- To be successful…, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- This parts all without you, Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip
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