Question Poem by Ajit Das

Like a distant ocean-sigh the past returns,
then dies down in the receding roar.
The future lies dishevelled, unmapped,
writing its pages with uncertain ink.

Clumsy presence, its sheen worn off,
hidden pattern coming to the surface,
reveals the tract that lies beyond
the amber light in the journey ahead.

Will there be dignity, inner strength
to lead through the twilit corridors
or only the drudgery of shuffling hours
filling days with pain and loneliness?

The evening comes, stretches into night,
leaving me alone to the quiet light
of immobile stars, segregated, far off.