Shadows Poem by Ananta Madhavan

Those who are shadows grieve the light
When picture sharp the black blocks move
And nudge a map of shapes to occupy
The glare of white surrender.

By fading lamp or in the plasma lake
An inkblot island growing hoops
In contour play of shallows,
Dons pallor by degrees, and smudge to faintness,
Straining, not shielding, sun-power,
And abdicates the solid right to stay opaque.

They are not silhouettes but shadows,
The furry ghosts who pad on craven floors
In filtered eclipse, fungus obscure,
Feeding on hinged parents,
Succulent, substantial, self-adoring
Objects.

They are the permeable shades,
The hooded parasites,
Who also loom in light.

One day the sun may die,
Sundered and gutted by explosive boredom,
And the shadows run to a doom of charred acres,
Impartially dark.